


peter parker's ungodly cross-country road trip to hell

by censored, lavender_tea_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Gen, Harley Keener Says Fuck, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Mentioned Michelle Jones, Monsters, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Non-Graphic Violence, Peter Parker is a Mess, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Road Trips, Sassy Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, bc they're babies dont come at us, but only once because thems the rules, peter parker destroys shit, please dont sue us uncle rick, pre harley keener/peter parker, small mentions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/censored/pseuds/censored, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_tea_writes/pseuds/lavender_tea_writes
Summary: Peter pisses off some gods among other immortals, Harley does damage control. Ned laughs along.The Percy Jackson AU no one asked for but that we all deserve
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 71
Collections: Parkner Greek Mythology Collection





	1. peter's life gets flipped, turned upside down

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement is intended, The Lightning Thief and the rest of the Percy Jackson series are property of Rick Riordan. 
> 
> This fic is the product of two weeks of near-constant writing and voice calls. Thanks to Discord for working sometimes, censored's computer for only crashing a few times, Google Docs for only lagging a little bit over our 130 page doc, and shaderose, lilacsandlillies, and esther for telling us not to make this a oneshot. Also thanks to Uncle Rick for hopefully not suing us.

Look, Peter didn’t want to be a half-blood.

* * *

Peter got expelled. Once again. 

He didn’t mean to get expelled. Again.

It just happens.

Other people accidentally kill their math teacher when she turns into a demon, right?

To think that seeing three old ladies knit a pair of massive electric blue socks next to a fruit stand  _ wasn’t _ the weirdest thing Peter had seen recently. 

But one thing led to another and now he’s in the backseat of Gabe’s car as Aunt May drives away from  _ something _ and his best friend, Ned, had furry legs in the passenger seat. 

Then lightning struck their car. Sorry, Gabe.

And now he was shrugging his red, rain-soaked jacket off and holding it up like he was a bullfighter, preparing to dodge as Aunt May told him. Before the beast had grabbed her around the neck and she had disappeared in a shower of gold.

Peter’s lungs weren’t working. They hadn’t been since Aunt May had died in front of him.  _ He had lost someone else he loved _ . 

Except the bull-man-thing held out its meaty arms, so Peter jumped.

Because that’s a normal reaction.

The rain was slick but Peter still managed to pull the bull’s horn until it snapped off, barely avoiding biting off his own tongue as the creature attempted to buck him off.

Blaring pain in the back of his head. 

Up onto one knee.

Peter shoved the horn into the creature’s chest. 

A shower of gold dust.

He wanted so badly to pass out, but he had to get Ned to safety.

There was a warm light near the middle of the valley. 

He dragged Ned there.

The last thing he remembered was seeing a pretty boy with blonde hair curled majestically around his ears. 

“He’s the one. He must be.”

* * *

There was the pretty blonde boy, shoving something that tasted like buttered popcorn pudding into his mouth. 

When he awoke again, he was outside in a rocking chair on a wrap-around porch.

Ned was sitting next to him and Peter could almost believe it was all a nightmare. But then Ned hands him a Minotaur horn. So, not a dream.

“I’m sorry about May,” Ned said, staring at his converse hi-tops as he shuffled his feet, “But thank you for saving me. I, like, totally failed at basic satyr protection stuff, I’m the worst.”

“No, it’s not your fault, Ned. You didn’t kill her, the- the Minotaur did,” Peter replied.

“Maybe not directly, but I should have been better at protecting you,” Ned stomped his foot, and his shoe popped off to reveal a hoof attached to his leg, confirming that the boy was, in fact, a satyr. 

Peter’s legs barely felt like they were working, but he managed to slowly follow Ned around the wrap around porch. The view of the ocean as they turned the corner took Peter’s breath away, they must be on the North Shore on Long Island Sound, as the water seemed to stretch on forever, covering the horizon.

There were two people sitting at a table, one facing away from Peter, and the boy from earlier was leaning against the porch rail.

One of the men at the table turned to Peter and Ned with a disgusted look on his faceーlike Peter was the reason for all the problems in his life. The man was short and porky with red, watery eyes. 

The other man, the one facing away from him, was in a wheelchair. He had dark, perfectly styled hair, a blazer, and an incredibly recognizable goatee. 

“Mr. Stark!”

“Peter! Hey kid. Now we have four for pinochle,” Mr. Stark said, motioning for Peter to sit down next to the man that was most definitely drunk, “Harley, come over here kid,” Mr. Stark beckoned.

The blonde boy approached the table, “Yeah, Tony?”

“Peter, this is Harley. He stayed dutifully by your side while you were still passed out. You have him to thank for your recovery,” Mr. Stark turned back to Harley, “Could you check on Peter’s bunk? We’re going to set him up in Cabin 11.”

“Of course,” The boy said. Now that he was actually conscious, Peter could see that Harley was around the same age he was, although taller and way more athletic-looking if the muscles Peter saw were anything to go by. He had tanned skin to compliment the shaggy blonde hair curling just below his ears, a smattering of freckles under his grey eyes. 

Grey eyes that analyzed himーPeter was sure he was finding his weak points to take him down in a fightーbefore flicking down to evaluate the Minotaur horn still clutched in his fingertips, glancing back up to Peter’s face with an indifferent look on his face.

Then, he said, “You drool when you sleep.”

He turned and sprinted down into the lawn, his hair reflecting in the sunlight. 

“So, Mr. Stark,” Peter started, desperate to fill the awkward silence, “do you work here?”

“Not Mr. Stark,” the ex-Mr. Stark said, “call me Tony.”

Peter would not do that, but he nodded anyway, turning to Mr. D.

“Does Mr. D stand for anything?”

The most-definitely alcoholic gave him a look, “Names are powerful things, young man. Don’t go throwing them around willy-nilly.”

“Oh, give the kid a break,” Mr. Stark scolded.

Mr.D huffed, turning back to his cards. 

“Kid, I’m glad to see you’re alive. It’s been a while since I’ve made a housecall for a potential camper.”

“What?”

“I went to Yancy to instruct you, of course. Ned told me he had found someone special, so I, well, let’s just say I convinced the previous Latin teacher to take a well-deserved break.”

Peter could barely remember the beginning of the school yearーit seemed unimportant after recent eventsーto when there was a different Latin teacher, who disappeared and was replaced with Mr. Stark.

“Did you come to Yancy just to teach me?”

Mr. Stark nodded, “Yeah, although I wasn’t too sure at first. We contacted your aunt to let her know that we were keeping an eye on you for Camp Half-Blood, but you still had a lot to learn. But, you made it here alive, so you passed the first test.”

After a game of pinochle that Peter was definitely not participating correctly in and an incredibly confusing and unhelpful overview of the fact that the gods were real, Peter found himself watching his Latin teacher stand up from his wheelchair. With horse legs. This new information should have fazed him, but the past few days had already been so goddamn weird. 

Mr. Stark led him through the camp, pointing out the strawberry fields that kept them funded and telling him about Mr. D’s effect on the fruits. When Peter saw a satyr leading bugs out of the fields, he felt it appropriate to bring up Ned. 

“Ned won’t get into too much trouble, right Mr. Stark? He was a good protector, he did manage to keep me safe, and he deserves a second chance.”

Mr. Stark gave Peter a sad look, “That’s not really up to me, kiddo. That’s up to Dionysis and the Council of Cloven Elders. Ned lost you in New York and couldn’t protect your Aunt May. Also, he was unconscious when you brought him into camp. I’m afraid the council won’t like all of that very much.”

Peter was silent for a moment as they continued through the camp. 

“Harley,” Mr. Stark said, gesturing to Peter, “I’ve got somewhere to be. Do you mind taking Peter from here?”

“Sure.”

Cabin eleven was an old building. It reminded Peter of a stereotypical summer camp cabin, worn down, and paint peeling with a caduceus over the doorway. Inside was packed.

“Good luck, kid,” Mr. Stark said, galloping away, “See you at dinner.”

The campers were staring expectedly at him, as everyone seemed to be doing, but Peter understood why this time. After all, he had been to enough schools to get used to this. Kinda.

“Well?” Harley prompted.

Of course, Peter would then trip walking into the door. He had never been the most coordinated. 

“Peter Parker,” Harley announced, “meet cabin eleven.”

“Regular or underdetermined?” someone called out. 

Peter was starting to feel like he should have watched that orientation film Mr. Stark mentioned, considering he had no idea what that meant.

“Undetermined,” Harley said, ignoring the groans of disappointment from the rest of the cabin.

“Hey. Guys. That’s what Hermes is all about,” an older guy, probably around college age said, “Welcome to cabin eleven, Peter. There’s a spot on the floor over there for you.”

The college dude was tall and muscular (was it a requirement to be muscular to be in this camp or something?), his styled brown hair had frosted tips, and he wore a necklace with five clay beads. He was wearing an orange tank top, cargo shorts, and some sandals. He looked normal. Friendly, even. Except the massive scar running from below his right eye to his jaw. 

“This is Beck,” Harley said, sounding annoyed. Peter glanced over and saw Harley loosen his jaw. “He’s your counselor, for now.”

“Wait, for now?”

“You’re undetermined,” Beck explained. “They don’t know which cabin you’ll be in, so we take you in. Hermes welcomes all travelers.”

Peter glanced at the kids around him, suddenly reminded that Hermes was also the god of thieves. They all looked like they were waiting to pickpocket him. He clutched the minotaur horn tighter. 

“How long will I stay here?”

“Until you’re determined,” Beck responded.

“How long will that take?”

The campers laughed.

“C’mere,” Harley told him. “I’ll show you the courts.”

“I think I’ve already seen them.”

“Come on,” Harley said a bit more forcefully, grabbing Peter’s wrist and dragged him out the door, the cabin’s laughter chasing after them.

Once they were a few feet from the door, Harley said, “Parker, you have to do better than that.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath, “I can’t believe I thought you were the one.”

“The one- what? I just killed some bull creature,” Peter said.

“Don’t be so casual, some people train their whole lives hoping to get a chance like that,” Harley snapped, “You got lucky.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to kill it-”

“It didn’t actually die though, you know that right? It’s still a threat.”

“Um, no?” Peter stuttered, “What do you mean? It turned into dust.”

Harley rolled his eyes, “You can’t kill a monster, you can only dispel it for a while. They don't permanently die.”

“So anything we kill is still out there?”

“Yes. And likely very mad at you.”

“Great,” Peter mumbled, “So I have an angry Fury  _ and _ a Minotaur after me. Next thing I know someone’s going to be telling me my dad’s still alive.”

“He is,” Harley said matter-of-factly. 

Peter’s head whipped to look at the other boy, “What?”

“I mean, assuming he’s your godly parent.”

“How would you know that?”

“Same way I know you moved around a lot as a kid,” Harley stated, “And that you have dyslexia, and probably ADHD as well,” Harley gave Peter a smirk, “You made it here, which means you’re definitely a half-blood. And these are things we all have in common.”

Peter looked confused, so Harley explained further, “Your brain is made to read Ancient Greek, which is why the letters seem to float off the page when you try to read. Your ADHD is because your battle reflexes want you to move and run instead of sittin’ still in a classroom.” 

His brain was swirling with questions and before Peter could decipher where to even start, a snobbish voice called out, “Well well well, What do we have here. A newbie!”

He looked over to see the entitled boy he had seen earlier. From the ugly red cabin. He was swaggering towards them, with three other cabin members behind him, all with the same ugly personalities and big muscles.

“Flash,” Harley sighed. “Why don’t you go polish your spear or whatever it is you children of Ares do in your free time?”

“Sure, cowboy,” the snobby boy said. “So I can run it through you Friday night.”

“ _ Erre es korakas! _ ” Harley said, and Peter somehow recognized it as Greek for ‘go to the crows!’ It was probably a worse curse than it sounded. “You don’t stand a chance.”

Peter just met both boys today, but he didn’t have a doubt in his mind that Harley could beat Flash.

“We’ll pulverize you,” Flash responded with a twitch of his eye. It seemed Flash wasn’t confident they could follow through on their threats after all. Then he turned to Peter. “Who’s this little runt?”

“Peter Parker,” Harley sighed, “meet Flash, Son of Ares.”

Peter blinked. “The war god?”

“You got a problem with that?” Flash sneered.

Peter decided that this boy probably started more wars with his words than he could ever start with his fists.

“Nope,” Peter replied, recovering. “It just explains the bad smell.”

Flash growled. “We have a... right of passage of sorts for when you come to camp the first time. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Flashー” Harley tried.

“Stay out of it, cowboy.”

Harley looked a bit pained, but didn’t go on. Peter could deal with Flash and his goons without his help, after all, he was the new kid. Peter had done this before and knew he had to build his own reputation.

Peter handed the minotaur horn to Harley, preparing to fight, but Flash’s friend grabbed him by his hair and dragged Peter towards the bathrooms.

He tried to kick and punch the buff kid holding him. He’d been in fights before, but this kid had a grip like steel. They dragged him into the girls’ bathroom. It smelled like any public bathroom, with toilets and showers lining opposite sides of the wall. Peter thought that if this camp belonged to legitimate gods, then they could have had better bathrooms. 

Flash and his friends were all laughing, and Peter was trying to use the strength he had during the fight with the Minotaur, but it apparently had left him. 

“Like he’s ‘Big Three’ material,” Flash laughed as his friend pushed Peter towards one of the toilets. “Yeah, right. The Minotaur probably fell over laughing from how scrawny and stupid looking he is.”

His friends laughed.

Harley stood in the corner, watching nervously.

Peter’s knees were hit out from under him and his head was pushed towards the toilet bowl. It reeked. He strained his neck, keeping his face as far from it as he could. He looked at the water, thinking, he would not go into that. He wouldn’t.

His gut pulled. The plumbing rumbled, the pipes shuddering. The grip on his hair loosened. Water shot straight out of the toilet, over Peter’s head, and into the face of the kid that had been holding him. 

Peter was sitting on the ground.

He turned to see the toilet water hit Flash directly in the face with enough force to push him onto his butt, continuing to spray and force him back into a shower stall. 

Flash struggled and his friends began to go towards him, but then the rest of the toilets exploded, blasting water to keep them back. The showers started spraying, forcing all of the Ares kids out of the bathroom with fire hydrant-like streams of water.

Once they were out, the tug on Peter’s gut loosened and the water shut off abruptly.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Harley wasn’t spared. He was dripping wet, but hadn’t been forced out the door like the others. He stood in the same place, staring at Peter in shock.

Peter looked around, realizing he was sitting in the only dry area, a circle around him. No water on his clothes. Not even a drop.

He stood on shaking legs.

“How did you…” Harley asked. 

“I don’t know,” Peter replied.

They walked out.

Flash and his friends were sprawled out on the muddy ground, soaking wet and smelling like sewage. Other campers had gathered around, gaping at the group of Ares kids. Flash stared at him in pure hatred. “You’re dead, Parker.”

Peter knew he should keep quiet, but he couldn’t resist taunting. “You want another sip of sweet, sweet toilet water, Flash? Close your mouth.”

Flash’s friends held him back, dragging him away to cabin five. 

Harley stared at him. Peter didn’t know if Harley was disgusted or angry at him for getting him soaked in toilet water. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Peter asked. 

“I’m thinking that I want you on my capture the flag team.”

* * *

It seemed everyone in the camp knew about what had happened in the bathroom immediately. The campers stared and pointed at him more than they had before, only this time, they whispered about toilet water. But that might have been because Harley was still dripping toilet water beside him. 

He wasn’t used to being stared at and found himself staring back. A few times, he didn’t pay enough attention and accidentally walked into what seemed like every spiderweb at camp. He pretended not to notice Harley’s shudder every time he did so.

Harley pointed out a few other spots around the camp, like the metal shop, arts-and-crafts room, and the lava spitting, violently shaking climbing wall. Eventually, they made it to the canoe lake. 

“I have to go train. Dinner’s at 7:30 pm, follow your cabin,” Harley told him in a monotone voice.

“Hey Harley, I’m sorry about the, uh, toilet water.”

Harley just looked at him.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Peter tried, even though it was. He was the one to make water shoot at Flash and his friends’ faces. 

“You gotta go have a chat with the Oracle,” Harley told him.

Peter didn’t know who the Oracle was or why he would need to do that. 

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Not a who, darlin, it’s a what. I’ll have a chat with Tony.”

Peter stared at the water. Why wouldn’t anyone give him a clear answer?

There was someone looking back at him from the bottom of the lake. Which wasn’t something Peter was ever expecting, so his heart jumped in his chest. Two teenage girls were sitting at the bottom of the lake, wearing sparkling green t-shirts and blue jeans, their brown hair floating around their head like a halo. Fish were swimming through it. They gave him a smile and a wave.

Was he still in New York, because no one was ever this friendly.

Peter was friendly, so he waved back.

Harley lightly smacked his arm, “Don’t. Naiads don’t need more encouragement.”

Peter felt incredibly overwhelmed. “I want to go home.”

Harley gave a laugh, “You are home, darlin. This is the only place you’ll be safe.”

“The only place?” Peter asked. He knew he looked helpless, but all he wanted was answers.

“Yep, us half-humans are safe here.”

“The other half is god?” Peter confirmed.

Harley gave him a curt nod, “Your dad ain’t dead, he’s one of the Olympians.”

Peter was gonna say something along the lines of that being crazy, but it honestly wasn’t. What had changed for the gods over the years since myths? There were still humans for them to mess around with.

“Who’s your dad?” Peter turned to Harley.

Harley’s mouth curled up into a snarl. “No one important. My mama’s a goddess.”

“Which goddess is your mom then?”

“That’d be cabin six. Athena,” Harley seemed to puff up with pride.

“Do you have any idea who my dad is?” 

“Nah, you’re underdetermined,” Harley reminded him, “Not a soul knows.”

“How do I know?” Peter knew he was asking a ton of questions, but Harley was still answering them, so he continued.

“You’ll get a sign over your head if you’re claimed,” Harley rubbed his thumb into a little indent on the railing.

“If? Do some not get claimed?”

Harley’s mouth twisted, “The gods are busy, they forget about their kids sometimes.”

Peter thought back to some of the more sullen-looking campers he saw on the floor of cabin eleven. It reminded him of some of the kids he went to school with, the ones whose rich parents would drop them off year after year. The gods should care more.

“Am I allowed to leave? Or am I stuck here?” Peter asked Harley, who was looking more and more like he wanted to walk away from Peter. 

“Campers with a less powerful parent usually just stay for the summer because monsters tend to ignore ‘em. For others, it’s too dangerous for us to leave and we stay year-round. Monsters hunt us down outside camp. They tend to ignore you until you’re about ten, then if you’re powerful enough, you’re hunted. If you make it here, you’re safe.”

“Can monsters not get in here or something?” 

“Not unless they are purposefully stocked in the forest or someone summons one for a practical joke or something.”

“A practical joke? That’s messed up,” Peter shuttered, remembering Ms. Dodd’s cold eyes. 

“A bit, yeah.”

Harley laughed from beside Peter. He looked over to see the blond boy staring at his hair, pointing at it. Peter just  _ knew _ he had a spider web stuck in it. Harley reached forward to pick the offending silk out of Peter’s brown curls.

“You’ve walked into more spiderwebs today than I have my whole time as camp, darlin’,” Harley cackled, “I ought to call you Web Head. That’s all that’s in your head, instead of brains you just got spiderwebs.”

Peter let out a snort, “Shit, Harley, it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.”

They were quiet for another moment.

“So,” Peter continued, “you’re a year-rounder?”

“I am,” Harley nodded, pulling a necklace full of clay beads from inside his shirt. Along with the beads, there was a small ring, like a child’s, hanging from the center. 

“Been here since I was about seven. You get a bead every August, on the last day of the summer session,” he explained, running his thumb over the beads.

“You have more than any other camper I’ve seen,” Peter noticed, continuing hesitantly, “Why did you come so young?”

“You don’t need to know that,” Harley shut down. 

Well, that conversation wasn’t going anywhere, Peter thought.

“Could I just walk out right now?” Peter asked. “If I wanted to?”

Harley frowned, fiddling with the ring, “It’s suicide. But, you could, with permission from Mr. D or Tony. They’d never give you permission unless it was the end of the summer or-”

Harley abruptly cut himself off.

“Or?” Peter prodded.

“A quest. If you were given a quest, but that rarely happens. Last time…”

That last quest hadn’t gone well apparently.

Peter changed the subject.

“In the infirmary, you were feeding me, something-”

“Ambrosia.”

“It’s ambrosia? Okay, sure. You asked me about the summer solstice.”

“You know something?” Harley had tensed up.

“No,” Peter admitted. “But I overheard Ned and Mr. Stark talking about it in my old school. Ned had mentioned it. Mentioned a deadline. What deadline? What does that mean?”

Harley clenched his jaw, “No. I wish I knew. Tony and the satyrs know, but none of them will tell me. Something major is happening in Olympus, but last time I was there, everything was normal.”

“Wait, Olympus? You’ve been there?”

“Yeah,” Harley’s mouth twisted, “Some year-rounders took a field trip for the winter solstice. It’s their fancy annual meeting.”

Wasn’t Olympus in Greece?

“How did you get there?”

Harley looked at him like he was stupid, and Peter knew, but hey.

“Long Island Railroad, get off at Penn Station. Empire Station Building, take the special elevator to the 600th floor,” Harley gave him a glance. “You’re from New York, right?”

“Yeah, Queens.” 

Peter was sure that there were only two hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building.

“The weather got odd, right after we visited. Putting together what I’ve overheard, something important was stolen, and if it’s not returned to its owner by the solstice,” Harley trailed off for a moment, “There’s going to be trouble. I thought, well I hoped, that we could work togetherーAthena doesn’t have many rivalries, except Ares and the big one with Poseidon. Anyway, I thought we could work together, that you might know something.”

Peter didn’t know anything except that he was hungry and tired, so he shook his head. He wished he could help, but his brain was overloaded with all the information he’d received today.

“I’ve gotta get a quest, they gotta stop saying I’m too young,” Harley muttered to himself.

Peter smelled barbeque, drifting in the air, and his stomach growled. Harley dismissed him to go to his cabin before dinner. He left Harley on the pier, rubbing his finger across the wooden railing, deep in thought.

Captain eleven was overwhelming. Constant movement, constant talking, constant noise. Peter noticed that a lot of the campers had similar facial featuresーsharp and mischievous. Summarized as the ‘troublemaker’ look. Peter entered unnoticed and sat down in his tiny floor space. 

Beck appeared beside him. He also had the family resemblance to Hermes, sans the scar, but his smile was there.

“Sleeping bag for you, and stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he said, handing the items to Peter.

Peter couldn’t tell if the stealing part was serious or not, but he thanked him anyway.

Beck hummed, sitting down next to Peter. “Rough first day?”

“I don’t belong here,” Peter said. “I don’t even believe in gods.”

“We all started like that. Once you actually start believing in them? Doesn’t get much easier.”

Beck’s voice was bitter as he talked about the gods. It surprised Peter. It completely contradicted the elder’s laid back personality.

“Hermes, he’s your dad, right?”

Beck pulled out a switchblade and Peter briefly thought that the man was going to stab him, but Beck just started scraping mud off his sandal. “Yep, Hermes. Messengers, travelers, merchants, thieves, honestly anyone who uses roads. He’s not picky.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Once.”

Beck didn’t elaborate.

He finally looked up and gave Peter a strained smile. “We take care of each other here, Peter, don’t worry too much. I mean, we’re all extended family, right?”

Peter thought that Beck seemed to understand how he felt. This cool, older counselor, hanging out with lame teenager Peter. He had let Peter into his cabin with open arms and had stolen him toiletries. 

Peter had so many more questions, but he didn’t want to bother Beck too much, so he chose the one that had been on his mind all afternoon. 

“Flash joked about me being ‘Big Three’ material and then Harley mentioned me being ‘the one’ twice, today. He also said I should talk to the Oracle. Could you explain any of that?”

“I hate prophecies,” Beck grumbled, with a fold of his knife.

Everyone was so vague.

"What do you mean?"

“I messed up stuff for others,” Beck’s face twisted. “Two years ago, I had a quest to the Garden of the Hesperides. It went bad. Tony hasn’t allowed any more quests since. Harley, he’s been dying trying to get out of camp and into the world, bothering Tony enough that he told him that he knew his fate. The Oracle had given a prophecy, and Tony won’t tell Harley the entire thing and said he wasn’t ready yet. Said Harley had to wait for someone special.”

“Someone special?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Beck repeated. “Every new person that comes to camp, Harley thinks is the ‘somebody special’ that he’s been waiting for. Time to go to dinner.”

A conch shell sounded just as he finished talking. Peter had never heard a conch shell before, but he was sure that was what made the noise.

Beck called out for the campers to group up and the twenty of them went down to the yard, lining up by seniority. Peter was last. 

All the cabins had some people, except the three empty ones he had passed earlier, and cabin eight. 

As they made their way to the pavilion, satyrs and naiads emerged from the meadows and lake, falling in line with them. One girl melted out of a tree and skipped up the hill. Total, there were about a hundred campers, twenty-some satyrs, and a dozen others, like nymphs and naiads.

Torches were blazing around marble columns, with a fire in a bronze brazier at the center of the pavilion. All the cabins had their own table, but four of them were empty, and cabin eleven’s was incredibly overcrowded. Peter barely had a place to sit.

Ned was sitting at table twelve, surrounded by a few satyrs, Mr. D, and what must’ve been two of Mr. D’s kids. Mr. Stark was standing off to the side, as he couldn’t fit at any of the picnic tables.

Harley was at cabin six’s table, joined by other serious looking, athletic kids. All grey-eyed and blond hair. Ares’ table was behind Peter and he could hear Flash laughing with his friends. 

Mr. Stark pounded his hoof on the marble flooring, drawing the attention of everyone and silencing them all. With a glass raised, he declared “To the gods!”

Everyone copied him.

Wood nymphs appeared with platters of food, ranging from fresh fruits, cheese, bread, and barbeque. 

Beck turned to him, “Tell your glass what you want to drink, anything non-alcoholic that you want.”

“Lemonade.”

Peter watched the glass fill with fresh lemonade and had an idea.

“Blue Lemonade.”

It shifted to a cobalt blue. Almost like blue raspberry.

Peter took a hesitant sip, but it was perfect. He drank a silent toast to his Aunt May. 

She wasn’t permanently gone. She was in the Underworld, which was a real place. Which meant Peter was going to get her back.

Beck handed him a plate.

Peter piled up his food, about to start eating, but everyone was getting up and walking to the fire. 

Beck summoned him.

When he was close enough to the fire, he realized that people were dropping the best parts of their meal into the fire. 

“Offerings to the gods, burnt because they like the smell.”

Peter let out a “You’re kidding” in shock. They liked the smell of burnt food? Beck gave him a serious look. 

Beck tossed some grapes in, saying his father’s name with a bowed head.

Peter didn’t know whose name to say.

He decided to send a silent plea, asking whoever his father was to send him a sign.

Sending a nice slice of brisket into the flames, Peter managed to actually smell what the gods smelled. It smelled pleasant. Nothing like burning food. A combination of good smelling foods and feelings, that somehow worked well together. 

Mr. Stark got their attention again once they had almost finished and Mr. D stood up with a sigh.

“Hello, you gremlins. Tony, our activities director, says there’s a capture the flag game on Friday, uh, cabin five holds the laurels.”

The Ares’ table cheered.

“I couldn’t care less,” Mr. D continued, “but good job, I guess. Also, we got a new camper today. Percy Parkner.”

Peter saw Harley’s head snap towards Mr. D as Mr. Stark whispered something. 

“Uh, Peter Parker,” he corrected. “Now, go on to your silly campfire.”

There was a cheer as they all made their way to the amphitheater. Apollo’s cabin led the singalong, and everyone joined in. Joking, s’mores, and Peter felt like he was home. Once the sky had dissolved into stars, the conch horn blew again and they made their way to their cabins. 

As Peter laid in his sleeping bag, clutching the Minotaur horn, he thought about his Aunt May. Instead of the guilt and sorrow he had been feeling, he thought about all the precious moments he had shared with her. His exhaustion leaked into his bones and he closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

Over the next few days, Peter adapted to his new routine at camp. Harley taught him Ancient Greek every morning, which was much easier than he anticipated. The rest of the day was filled with physical activities Peter… didn’t excel at. He had tried everything from archery to wrestling to foot racing, and he failed spectacularly at all of it. 

Three days after his arrival at Camp Half-Blood, Peter joined Beck and the rest of Hermes cabin for a sword-fighting lesson. Beck taught him basics and before he knew it, Peter was facing off against the counselor. Who, of course, beat him badly. Beck saw Peter’s exhaustion and promptly called for a break. Campers swarmed the drink cooler like boys to the yard of a girl with a good milkshake, and Peter followed suit. After seeing Beck do it, Peter dumped some ice water over his head, and felt his entire body perk back up. Beck then called them back into the ring. 

Beck introduced a defensive maneuver and instructed Peter to attempt it on him, warning him that he wouldn’t likely get it quickly, as it was an advanced move. After a moment of sparring and a couple of close tries from both him and the counselor, Peter hit the hilt of Beck’s sword and it clamored to the ground. The group’s shock was palpable. 

“I- Uhm, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Peter rambled.

“No, Peter, don’t be sorry! That was amazing!” Beck said, now grinning at Peter, “Let’s try it again!”

Peter positioned himself, ready to go at Beck again. Before he could make the first move, however, Beck immediately hit the hilt of Peter’s sword and knocked it out of his grip. 

So much for that. 

* * *

After nearly dying of the climbing wall, Peter sat down with Ned for lunch. 

“So I have a question,” Peter said as they sat down, “Why doesn’t Hades have a cabin here?”

“Well,” Ned said, taking a bite out of an aluminum can as if it was absolutely normal, “He doesn’t have a throne of Olympus either. He doesn’t really… get along with the other gods particularly well. He mostly does his own thing in the Underworld. If he had a cabin…” Ned shook his head, as if he was trying to dispel a bad thought, “It wouldn’t be pleasant.”

Peter bit at his lip before asking another question, “Why are Zeus and Poseidon’s cabins empty? I thought they had tons of kids way back when, what changed?”

Ned looked uncomfortable, but answered Peter’s question nonetheless, “Children of the Big Three are very powerful. They are able to change the course of human history too easily. World War two was basically a fight between the sons of Zeus and Poseidon against sons of Hades. So after Zeus and Poseidon won, all three of them swore on the River Styx not to have any more children.”

Thunder boomed overhead, but Ned continued, telling Peter about MJ, the daughter of Zeus who Hades had attacked with the worst monsters of Tartarus. She was escorted to the camp by a satyr, but they only made it to the top of Half-Blood Hill. MJ died, but in her final moments, Zeus took pity on her and turned her into the pine tree he stood atop the hill, protecting the camp. The very tree Peter had walked past when he first came to camp. 

“Have any heroes ever gone to the Underworld?” Peter asked tentatively.

Ned nodded, “A few. Hercules, Orpheus, Houdini, even. They don’t tend to end well,” Ned narrowed his eyes at Peter, “You’re not trying to-”

“No,” Peter said a little too quickly, “I was just curious.”

* * *

Apparently, Peter’s important role in the game of capture the flag was to stand next to a creek and wait. He felt like an idiot, standing uselessly in the woods wearing a helmet with a dumb blue feather on it, and was quite bored. 

Until Flash and some other Ares cabin members burst out of the bushes and ran at him, screaming. 

Peter dodged the first jab, but they had surrounded him quickly. Flash thrust his spear towards Peter, the same spear that Harley had told him to watch out for before the game had started. Peter could now see why. 

Electricity buzzed through his body as the spear hit his shield. It was  _ electric _ . The air around him felt singed. One of Flash’s goons hit Peter in the chest with the hilt of his sword and he fell to the ground. 

Flash smirked above him, “Let’s give him a haircut,” he said. 

Peter managed to stand up before any of his foes could touch him again. He attempted to raise his sword against Flash, but the son of Ares hit his shield again, causing Peter to lose feeling in both his arms. 

Peter scoffed, “The flag’s over there, just go get it.”

“We don’t care about the flag,” Flash said with a smirk, “We care that you made our cabin look dumb.”

“You don’t need my help with that,” Peter shot back. 

Flash lunged at Peter, and his spear landed straight on his ribs. Thank the gods for his armor. Another Ares cabin member hit him with a slice to the arm. 

“You’re not supposed to do that man,” Peter mumbled, and his opponent responded by shoving him into the creek. The cool of the brook awoke his senses and he found himself suddenly energized. 

Flash and his group stepped into the creek towards Peter, who stood to face them. He swung his sword to one of their heads and knocked his helmet off. He crumpled into the water. Two more of them charged at him. He fought them off deftly, and Flash came towards him, spear crackling as he thrust it at Peter. Just as the spear came towards him, Peter caught it between his shield and his sword and snapped the thing in half. 

Flash was deeply offended by that, “You idiot! You corpse-breath worm!” He said. Peter didn’t think of a witty reply, and hit him in the forehead with the hilt of his sword. 

Then, in the distance, cheers sounded. Peter turned to see Beck racing across the line with the red team’s flag. 

The blue team gathered around Beck, lifting him into the air as cheers filled the forest. Harley materialized beside him. Literally. There was a cowboy hat resting against his back, held in place by a string around his neck. 

Seeing him, Peter felt rage bubble inside him, “You set me up.” 

“It was part of the plan,” Harley defended, “Athena always has a plan.”

“Which was to get me obliterated by the Ares cabin?”

“I was about to jump in to help but,” He smirked, “looks like you didn’t need it.”

Peter held his glare, but Harley continued, gesturing towards the injury on his arm, “How’d you do that?”

“Um, it’s a sword cut,” Peter said, “What else would it be?”

“No no, that  _ was _ a sword cut. It’s not anymore. Look at it,” Harley grabbed his arm and held it between them for both of them to inspect. The only sign he had even been hurt was a thin white line slashed across his arm that hadn’t been there before. The blood from earlier was completely gone, and the wound was closed. The two watched for a moment as the thin scar disappeared, and his arm returned to how it had looked twenty minutes ago.

“I- I don’t know,” Peter stumbled over his words, confused by what his body was doing, “It’s never done that before.”

Harley’s eyes were wide and his voice wavered as he spoke, “Step out of the water, Peter.”

“Why?” Peter protested.

Then, Harley snapped, “Just do it.”

Peter took tentative steps out of the creek and felt the energy that had filled his body previously melt away. He tripped and nearly fell into Harley’s arms. The other boy steadied him. 

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Harley murmured. Then, louder, said “That is  _ not _ good. I thought it would be Zeus…” 

Before he could finish his thought, a howl sounded from the woods, silencing the cheers of the people surrounding Beck. 

Mr. Stark stood and shouted for someone to get his bow in Ancient Greek. Harley drew his sword. Everyone around Peter readied themselves. 

On the rocks above them stood a black hound, larger than Peter had ever seen one, with eyes that glowed like coals and sharpened fangs. It stared straight at Peter. 

No one moved, until Harley spoke sharply, instructing Peter to “Run.”

He tried to step in front of the shorter boy, but the hound was too fast. It leaped over him and landed directly on Peter. It immediately started to rip his armor off his body. Something that sounded like a stack of paper being torn came from behind the creature, and Peter could see a bunch of arrows sticking out of its back. The monster collapsed to its side, off of Peter. 

Miraculously, he was alive. He could feel a cut on his chest, but he was alive. 

Mr. Stark trotted over to him, his expression serious. 

“That’s a hellhound! That’s not supposed to be able to get in here!” Harley sounded shocked. 

“It must have been summoned,” Mr. Stark stated, his voice deep and serious, “Summoned by someone inside the camp.”

Harley then seemed to notice the large scratch on Peter’s chest, “You’re hurt,” he said, “Here, get back in the water.”

“I’m fine, “Peter protested, “It’s fine.”

“Don’t be stupid, Parker, just get in the damn water.”

Peter dragged his tired body back into the creek, with Harley’s help. He felt better in an instant, and his wounds closed. A crowd had formed around him. 

Peter signed, “I don’t know how or why, I’m sorry-”

“No, Peter, look,” Harley pointed to something above Peter’s head. He looked up to see the fading image of a trident floating above his head, bathed in green light. 

“Well that solves that problem,” Tony said. 

“And creates plenty of others,” Harley replied. 

“What? What does it mean?” Peter, as usual, had no clue what was going on. 

“Your father is Poseidon,” Mr. Stark explained, “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Peter Parker, Son of the Sea God.”


	2. peter talks to a mummy

Peter was moved to cabin three in the morning. 

Just when he had begun feeling like he belonged, he was removed from the Hermes cabin and forced into loneliness, surrounded only empty beds and all three of his personal items in the cabin. It didn’t help that the other campers seemed to avoid him like the plague. The only people who willingly spoke to him were Beck during their one-on-one fighting lessons, and Harley when he begrudgingly helped him with his Ancient Greek. The worst Flash would even do was glare at him from across the camp. 

One night, Peter found an article from the  _ New York Daily News  _ sitting on his bed. It was about his and May’s “disappearance,” and presented him as a possible suspect. Great. Just what Peter needed, blame for his Aunt’s death. A phone number to contact with information about the case was circled in black marker. 

That night, Peter dreamt of two men in Greek tunics fighting on a beach. One, wearing a blue robe, yelled over the roar of a brewing storm for the man that wore a green robe to  _ give it back! _ Peter’s protests for them to stop fighting did nothing. A voice, deep and evil, rose from the ground and cackled for him to  _ Come down, little hero! Come down!  _ The sand opened beneath him, leading down, down, down to the center of the earth and-

He woke up to the sensation of falling. He found himself, thankfully, in the Poseidon cabin, instead of falling into the earth’s core. A storm did brew outside, that part of the dream was true. He could only hope that the rest wasn’t. 

A knock came at the door, and Ned peeked his head in, “Hey Peter, Mr. D wants to see you,” He looked worried. 

Peter furrowed his brows, “Why?”

Ned didn’t reply, but his eyes widened and he ducked back outside to let Peter get dressed. 

When they arrived at the Big House, they found Dionysus and Mr. Stark sitting at the pinochle table on the porch. Dionysis beckoned him. 

“I’m not going to kowtow to you just because your dad is ol’ Barnacle-Beard. You’re still a mortal.”

The storm outside protested. Dionysis waved it off. 

“If I had my way, your molecules would be bursting into flames right about now. But Tony wouldn’t let me, so here we are. I’ve considered turning you into a dolphin as well, that could work.”

“Mr. D-” Mr. Stark interjected. 

“ _ Fine.  _ There’s another option. I’m off to Olympus for an emergency meeting, and I  _ will _ turn this kid into an Atlantic bottlenose if he’s still here when I get back. Got it? And Peter Parker, if you’ve got any brains, you’ll make a much more sensible choice than the one Tony wants you to make.” With that, he picked up what looked like a security pass, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. The only sign he had even been there was the faint smell of grapes that lingered in the air. 

Mr. Stark motioned for Peter and Ned to sit, and they obeyed. 

“So, Peter,” Mr. Stark said, “What did you make of the hellhound?”

Though Peter assumed Tony was expecting him to say that he had no fear of the creature, he elected to be honest, “I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t shot it.”

“It’ll get much worse, if you’re going to go on this quest.”

“Quest?” Peter asked.

“Assuming you accept it,” Tony corrected, “Will you?”

“Um, well, I’m not really sure what that is?” Peter replied tentatively.

“Ah, yes the details. I should probably explain those, huh kid?” Peter nodded.

“Zeus and Posideon are fighting, aren't they?” The demigod asked, “Something valuable has been taken?”

Mr. Stark looked taken aback, “What makes you think that, kid?”

Peter bit his lip and his face blushed red, “The weather’s been weird for a while, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Harley also mentioned overhearing something about a theft, I think?” He paused, “I’ve also been having these dreams.”

“Yes!” Ned exclaimed, breaking his silence, “I knew it!” Mr. Stark shushed him, “It’s his quest! It must be!”

“We don’t know that for sure until we talk to the Oracle,” Mr. Stark said, “But you’re right, Peter. Zeus and your father are fighting. To make a long story short, Zeus thinks you stole his master bolt, which is a cylinder of celestial bronze with god-level explosives. It’s his symbol of power, the first weapon made for the war against the Titans. It has enough power to make hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers.”

“At the winter solstice, Zeus and Poseidon had a fight. It was the usual between brothers stuff, but at some point, Zeus’s bolt went missing. He blamed Poseidon almost immediately. Some of the most ancient divine laws forbid god from stealing their symbols of power, so Zeus thinks Posideon convinced a human- that’s you- to take it for him.”

“But I didn’t-” Mr. Stark silenced Peter’s protests with a singular hand gesture and continued. 

“Zeus has his reasons to believe it. The Cyclops forges that made the bolt are located in the depths of the ocean. In Zeus’s eyes, Poseidon stole it in order to have the Cyclops create copies. Plus now you’ve been claimed as Poseidon’s son, you were in New York over the winter holidays, it all works out.”

“That- that’s crazy!” Peter clutched at his arms, “I’ve never been to Olympus.”

Thunder boomed overhead, and the clouds rolled over the camp, not parting around them like Ned said it would. 

“Hey Peter,” Ned said, his voice wavering, “Maybe don’t use the c-word to refer to the lord of the sky?”

“Mhh hmm,” Mr. Stark agreed, “Anyways, Poseidon had tried to unseat Zeus before. It’s not so far-fetched.”

Peter thought it was absurd that anyone thought he could steal a god’s weapon. He couldn’t even sneak out of his room without getting caught. But Mr. Stark awaited an answer.

“Um, was it the thing with the net? Where some of the gods trapped him in a golden net until he agreed to be a better ruler?”

Mr. Stark nodded proudly, “You got it, kid. Zeus hasn’t trusted Poseidon since, and even though Poseidon has denied stealing the bolt, Zeus remains convinced. By the summer solstice, that’s in ten days, if you're keeping track, Zeus demands his bolt back and Poseidon demands an apology for being called a thief. I thought that Hestia, Hera, or Demeter would be able to make them see reason, but that hasn’t happened, and how Zeus is particularly enraged because of you,” Mr. Stark’s eyes grew dark, and he stared directly into Peter’s eyes, “If this turned into a war… you don’t want to know how bad that would be. It would make the trojan war look like a water balloon fight.”

Peter was just mad now. For once, he hadn’t  _ done _ anything, “So I have to find this stupid bolt and return it to Zeus?” 

“Pretty much,” Mr. Stark said, “It’d make a good peace offering.” 

Peter sighed, “So where is it?”

“I’m not completely sure, but I do have an idea. There was a prophecy I heard years ago that has started making sense recently, but before we discuss that you need to accept the quest and consult the Oracle.”

“Why can’t you tell me where it is first?” Peter inquired.

“Because then you wouldn’t accept.” Thanks, Mr. Stark, very reassuring. “Will you do it, kid?”

Peter looked to Ned, who nodded with excitement twinkling in his eyes. 

“Well I guess it’s better than being turned into a dolphin,” Peter shrugged. 

“Good decision, kid,” Tony said, and ushered Peter towards the door of the Big House, and Peter cautiously stepped in. 

There was a mummy in the attic of the Big House. Of course there was. A green mist poured from what Peter assumed used to be its mouth, and a voice spoke directly into his mind. 

_ I am the spirit Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty python. Approach, seeker, and ask.  _

Peter wanted so desperately to skedaddle, and forget it ever happened. He swallowed hard and mustered up the courage to ask “What is my destiny?”

The mummy replied:

_ You shall go west, and face the god who has turned, _

_ You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned, _

_ You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, _

_ And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end. _

That meant nothing to him. “What does that mean?” he asked, “What friend? Who will I fail to save?”

He was too late. The mist retracted into the mummy’s mouth, and he stood, alone, surrounded by odd momentos belonging to past campers. His audience with the oracle was over. 

* * *

“Well?” Mr. Stark asked as Peter stepped out of the house, “What’d she say?”

“I can get it back-” Peter started, but Mr. Stark cut him off. 

“ _ Exactly _ . I need to know what she said exactly. The wording can be very important.”

“She said to go west and face a god that had turned, retrieve what was stolen, and see it safely returned.” Peter pointedly left out the part where a friend betrayed him and he ultimately lost what mattered most. He didn’t much care for those lines. What friend was supposed to betray him, anyway? It’s not like there were a ton of options. 

Mr. Stark nodded, “These prophecies don’t usually mean what they seem to, they have double meanings. Keep that in mind.” Tony continued, exposing to Peter that it was likely Hades who stole the master bolt, and that he hated heroes. Peter tried to ignore the part of his brain that urged him to retrieve Aunt May from the Underworld. 

“So basically,” Mr. Stark said, “You’re supposed to confront the Lord of the dead, recover the most powerful weapon in the world, and get it back to Olympus before the winter solstice. Capisce?”

Peter didn’t really know how to respond to that. Mr. Stark had laid it out so casually. “Uh, Ca-capisce,” Peter stumbled out, “But how do I, uh, do it?”

Mr. Stark gave him an understanding smile, “Choose who to take with you. That’s the first step.”

“Oh,” Peter turned to Ned, “Would you, uh-“

Ned responded almost immediately, nodding with fervor, “Of course! You saved my life!”

“Cool,” Peter swallowed and turned back to Mr. Stark, “I don’t know who else to take.”

Mr. Stark smiled knowingly, “Someone has already volunteered, if you’re willing to bring them along.”

Suddenly, beside him, the air shimmered to reveal Harley removing his cowboy hat, “Come on, Parker.”

Peter put his hands over his mouth comedically, pretending to be shocked, “Wow, Harley? I never would have guessed!” Ned giggled at his performance. 

Harley didn’t find it quite as funny, “Don’t be stupid, Web Head. Will you take me or not?”

“Yeah, I will,” Peter said simply. 

“Great,” Mr. Stark clapped his hands together, “No time to waste then, kids, let’s get going.

* * *

Peter packed quickly. 

With the camp store’s loan of $100 and 20 golden drachmas, Peter only had a change of clothes in his bag. He left the Minotaur horn in his cabin. 

Both Harley and Peter got a canteen of nectar and a bag of ambrosia squares to be used in emergencies from Mr. Stark.

Harley was bringing his magic cowboy hat, gifted from his mother for his 12th birthday. He was bringing a worn copy of  _ Pride & Prejudice _ , written in Ancient Greek, and a long bronze knife that he hid in his shirt sleeve. 

They wouldn’t get far if they ran into any metal detectors.

Ned was disguised to pass as a human. His backpack contained snacks, his pocket had reed pipes that he could only play two songs on.

They waved to the other campers, looking over the camp one last time, before heading up to Mr. Stark, who was in his wheelchair, and the camp’s head of security, Argus.

Beck rushed up the hill, holding a pair of basketball shoes. 

“Glad I caught you! I wanted to wish you guys good luck and to give you these,” he gave Peter the shoes.

He called out “Maia!” and the shoes sprouted wings. 

Peter dropped them in surprise and the wings retreated.

Beck explained how he had gotten them from his dad and had used them on his own quest; Peter was touched, he had briefly thought that the man hated him from how much attention he had gotten recently.

They said their goodbyes (Peter noticed the looks Harley was shooting Beck) and his companions made their way to the SUV Argus was using to drive them to the city.

Peter grabbed the shoes and his chest felt odd. Turning to Mr. Stark, Peter asked if he’d even be able to use the shoes.

“Beck, he meant well,” Mr. Stark said, shaking his head. “But you shouldn’t be too far off the ground, kid.”

Peter expected that. Looks like Ned was getting a magical item. 

“I wish I could’ve trained you better, kid. More,” Mr. Stark sighed.

Peter nodded, his throat tight. Harley and Ned had magical items for this quest, but Peter was left with nothing.

“Shit!” Mr. Stark yelled. “I forgot to give you this.”

He tossed Peter a cheap ballpoint pen. Amazing.

Peter looked at him, silently.

“That’s from your dad, kid. I’ve had it forever, not knowing who to give it to. But, the prophecy makes more sense now, it’s for you.”

This pen. It was the same pen Mr. Stark had thrown him in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where he’d killed Mrs. Dodds. 

He uncapped it.

It grew into a bronze sword, double-edged, leather grip, flat hilt. Perfectly balanced in his hand.

“It’s been through some stuff,” Mr. Stark explained. “Its name is Anaklusmos.”

“Riptide.”

Mr. Stark informed him that it was only to be used against monsters, as it was useless towards mortals because of the way it had been forged.

“Recap it.”

Peter touched the cap to the tip of the sword and it shrunk down into a ballpoint pen. He put it in his pocket. He’d give it an hour at most, before it would disappear from his pocket. Lost forever.

“Don’t worry, kid, you can’t lose it.”

“How?”

“Chuck it. It’ll always reappear in your pocket.”

Peter did. The pen was in his pocket.

When Peter asked about mortals seeing it, Mr. Stark explained the Mist. 

Convenient.

One quick history lesson later, Peter was ready for the quest. No adults, no phones, no backup.

Mr. Stark reminded him to keep his head clear, as he was in charge of preventing the biggest war in human history.

No pressure.

* * *

Riding in a car was odd after all he has experienced. Peter was looking at things outside the window like he’d never seen them before, but he’s seen plenty of McDonald’s signs in his life.

“We’re doing good,” Peter spoke up, “No monsters and it has been about ten miles.”

Harley glared. “Don’t talk like that, Web Head, it’s bad luck.”

“Want to remind me why you despise me so much?”

“I don’t.”

“Hm, seems fake.”

Harley pulled at a string on his cowboy hat. “I’m not supposed to get along with you, our parents are rivals.”

“But why?”

“Tons of reasons, darlin’. Poseidon disrespected my mother’s temple. They competed to be the patron god of Athens, and the people chose Athena for her olive tree over Poseidon’s saltwater spring.”

“Must’ve really liked their olives.”

Harley rolled his eyes, “Forget it.”

“If Athena had created pizza, then I could see the people’s reasoning.”

“Drop it!”

Peter saw Argus grin, sending Peter a wink from one of the eyes on the back of his head.

Queens traffic was brutal and the sun was setting by the time they had made it to Manhattan. It was also starting to rain.

They were dropped off at the Greyhounds Station, not far from Gabe and Aunt May’s apartment. A picture of Peter was taped on the mailbox, with a: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?

Peter ripped it off before the others noticed.

Argus unloaded the SUV, made sure we had all our stuff and bus tickets, then drove off.

Peter looked down the road, towards the apartment. A normal day would have Aunt May getting back from work, Smelly Gabe was probably in his normal seat up there, playing poker and not noticing that anything was wrong.

Ned followed his gaze. “She married him for a reason, Peter.”

Peter startled, looking at his best friend. “Do you have mind-reading powers or something?”

“Nah,” Ned shrugged. “I just read your emotions. Satyrs can do that.”

Peter stared.

“May married Gabe for you,” Ned explained. “His smell covered up your scent, hiding you from monsters. It’s incredibly strong, I can still smell it and you haven’t been near him in a week.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious, dude. You wouldn’t have survived this long had you not stayed with him over the summer. Your Aunt May did it to protect you, she was a smart lady”

Peter didn’t like him using past-tense to talk about May. He was going to get her back.

Peter wondered if Ned was still reading his mixed up emotions. He was grateful he wasn’t alone on this quest, if not a bit guilty that he hadn’t told them the reason why he had agreed to take this quest. 

He was getting back Aunt May.

The Oracle whispered the last line of the prophecy into his ear. Peter ignored it.

It was still raining.

They waited for the bus, passing the time by playing Hacky Sack with one of Ned’s apples. 

Harley was really good, bouncing the apple off everything. Peter wasn’t too bad, but not too great either. 

He tossed the apple too close to Ned and it disappeared, stem and all, into his mouth. Ned’s face turned red as he tried to apologize but Harley and Peter were too busy laughing.

The bus finally arrived. They stood in the line to board and Ned began to sniff the air.

Peter asked if everything was alright, but Ned brushed him off, saying it was nothing.

His best friend was lying. It wasn’t nothing. 

Peter began to look over his shoulder too.

Finally boarding, they found seats together and stored their backpacks. Harley was bouncing his hat against his knee.

It was when the last passengers boarded the bus did Harley grab Peter’s knee in a firm grip. “Peter.”

An old lady, wearing a wrinkly dress and hat that covered her face, with a big purse. She tilted her head back and Peter saw her eyes. Black eyes that reflected the lights.

It was Mrs. Dodds. Different, but definitely her.

Peter sunk into his seat.

Two more old ladies boarded. Their hats were different colors than Mrs. Dodds, but they looked exactly the same.

Demon triplet grandmothers.

Sitting in the front row, they casually crossed their legs to block the aisle. No one could leave.

The bus left the station.

“I thought you said they could be dead for a lifetime,” Peter muttered to the blonde.

“I said that if you were lucky they would be,” Harley replied. “You aren’t.”

Ned let out a whimper, “All three!”

“It’ll be okay,” Harley’s eyebrows were furrowed as he thought, “The Furies. The worst monsters from the Underworld. This’ll be no problem. No problem at all. The windows, we’ll just slip out.”

“They don’t open,” Ned groaned.

“Back exit?” Harley suggested.

There wasn’t one. Plus, the bus was moving too fast at this point.

This bus didn’t seem to follow the safety regulations very well.

Peter doubted they would attack with mortals around and he voiced his thoughts. Only to be shot down by Harley reminded him of the Mist.

“They would still see three grandmothers killing us, right?”

Harley thought for a moment. “Not sure. It’s hard to say. But we can’t count on these mortals to help us, maybe there’s an emergency exit on the roof?”

They were in the Lincoln tunnel. Darkness, except the lights down the aisle. Incredibly quiet.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Mrs. Dodds announced, her sisters confirming that they did as well.

Then, they were walking down the aisle.

Harley shoved his hat into Peter’s hands, “Put this on.”

At Peter’s look, he elaborated, “They want you. Put on the hat and get to the front of the bus. You’ll be able to get away.”

“Butー”

“We’ll be fine! Maybe,” Harley said. “There’s a chance that your smell is overpowering ours, you’re a child of the Big Three.”

“I can’t just leave you.”

“You can and you will,” Harley told him firmly. “Go!”

Peter’s hands were shaking as he pulled the cowboy hat on.

He was invisible.

Peter crept down the aisle, ducking into an empty seat just as the grandmothers walked past.

Mrs. Dodds stopped, sniffing the air and staring directly at him. 

They moved on.

Peter made it to the front of the bus, almost through the Lincoln Tunnel. His hand hovered above the emergency stop button, but a loud wailing forced him to look back.

The Furies had shed their disguises, surrounding Harley and Ned, lashing their whips.

“Where is it? Where?”

The other passengers were screaming, hunched down in their seats in fear. 

Peter didn’t know what they were seeing.

“He isn’t here!” Harley was yelling. “He’s gone!”

They drew their whips up and Harley raised his knife, Ned raised a can.

Peter grabbed the wheel, jerking it to the left. He heard the Furies fly to the opposite windows.

The driver was yelling, but Peter refused to release the wheel.

The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel, metal shredding against the concrete.

Back in the rainstorm, they made a path through cars as people were thrown around in the bus. The driver shot them down an exit ramp, through multiple stoplights, to a dirt road. Hudson River on one side, a forest on the other, and the driver was veering towards the river.

Peter hit the emergency brake.

He was just full of amazing ideas today.

Spinning a circle, the bus stopped. Mostly because it had hit the trees. Emergency lights. Doors flying open.

The bus driver was first off the bus, the passengers following in a horde behind him. Peter let them pass.

The Furies were back on their feet, lashing their whips at Harley who just yelled back at them in Ancient Greek, waving his own knife as Ned threw tin cans.

Peter could run out the door, but he wouldn’t leave his friends. Pushing the cowboy hat to rest against his back, he yelled at the monsters.

They whipped around, baring their fangs. Mrs. Dodds made her way up the aisle, flickering her whip that had red flames with every snap.

The sisters crawled over the back of the seats.

“Peter Parker,” Mrs. Dodds growled. “You have offended the gods. You shall die.”

Peter liked her better as a math teacher, as bad as she was, so he told her.

He had no sense of self-preservation.

She responded with a growl.

Harley and Ned were slowly making their way up behind the monsters, looking for an opening to attack.

Peter grabbed the ballpoint pen from his pocket, uncapping it, letting the bronze reflect in the emergency lighting.

The Furies hesitated.

It seemed Mrs. Dodds remembered her last run in with this sword.

“Surrender,” she hissed. “And you will not suffer eternal torment.”

“Ha,” Peter responded.

Harley called for him to look out just as Mrs. Dodds lashed her whip towards his sword hand, her sisters lunging from either side.

Peter’s hand felt as though he had dipped into lava, but he kept Riptide in a vice grip. He slammed the hilt into the Fury on the left and she crashed backward into a seat. Turning, he sliced at the Fury on the right and she exploded into dust. Harley had grabbed Mrs. Dodds and yanked her backward as Ned ripped the whip from her leathery hands.

  
  


Left Fury had sat back up, ready to go at Peter again, but he sliced her just as he did to her sister.

Mrs. Dodds was struggling to get Harley off her back, but the blond held on tight. Ned managed to wrap the monster’s whip around her legs. They shoved her backward, legs tied and wings unable to extend.

“Zeus will destroy you!” she promised. “Hades will have your soul!”

“Braccas meas vescimini!” Peter yelled back.

Apparently, he could speak some Latin, if the ‘eat my pants!’ he just yelled was anything to go off of.

The bus shook with a roar of thunder, Peter’s hair rose on the back of his neck.

Harley yelled at him to get off the bus, but Peter didn’t need encouragement.

Outside, the other passengers were either in a daze, arguing with the driver, or panicking. Someone snapped Peter’s picture before he could recap his sword.

Ned yelled, “We left our bagsー”

BOOM.

The windows exploded outward. Lightning had shot through the center of the bus, but Peter could still hear Mrs. Dodds screaming.

“Run!” Harley yelled. “She’s calling in reinforcements, we have to go!”

They ran into the woods, getting submerged into the darkness as the rain continued to pour and the fire engulfed the bus.

* * *

Peter liked having gods to blame for everything that went wrong. Like, monsters attacking a bus and then that bus being blown up by lightning. Even the rain! He could blame it all on the gods, rather than on simple bad luck.

Ned was still shivering from the attack, eyes wide with terror as he muttered about “Three Kindly Ones.”

Peter was definitely in shock and his ears were still ringing from the explosion of the bus, but Harley kept them moving, pulling them farther from the bus, saying: “Come on! It’s better that we get farther away.”

“We lost everything,” Peter told him. “Shit- all our money, clothes, and food.”

“Well, if you didn’t decide to jump into the fightー”

“What?” Peter cried. “You think I was going to let you both get killed?”

“Peter, you don’t need to protect me. I would’ve been fine, I know how to fight.”

“Sliced to hell,” Ned spoke up. “But, sure. You would’ve been fine.”

“Shut up, goat boy,” Harley snapped.

Ned mourned his tin cans.

They sloshed through the mud, through the twisted trees, silent.

A few minutes later, Harley fell into step next to him. “Darlin’, I,” he faltered, “I appreciate your coming back for us. It was brave. So, thanks.”

“Of course,” Peter said, not rudely.

Harley was silent by his side for a moment. “The quest would be over if you died. This is my only chance to see the real world.”

It was pitch black, the thunderstorm had finally let up, and Peter could only see brief reflections off Harley’s hair.

“You really haven’t left Camp since you were seven?” Peter asked, carefully.

“Just short field trips,” Harley explained. “My momー”

“Athena?”

“No, my adoptive mama.”

“What?” Peter replied, eloquently.

Harley sighed. “Athena’s my mom. She and my dad got together, now I exist. She left me with my dad, who had started dating someone else before I had been born. They lived together for a couple of years and had another kid before my dad left to get scratchers, guess he won because he never came back. He left me and my baby sister with the woman he was dating, and she adopted me. There, now you know my life story.”

“Your dad sounds like a shithole,” Peter said bluntly.

Harley barked out a laugh, and Peter was pretty sure he gave him a smile, but it was too dark to tell.

“I tried to live at home, but it didn’t work out. I didn’t want more monsters to attack my mama, so I left. Went to Camp Half-Blood. Camp’s home now.”

“You never went back?”

“Nah,” Harley muttered. “I can train at camp, get good. Be able to keep them safe. They’re safest when I’m not there.”

“You’re good with that knife.”

“You think so?”

“Anybody who can piggyback a Fury like she’s a bucking bronco is okay by me.”

Peter was sure that Harley smiled at that.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Harley began, “back on the bus…”

Ned interrupted him with a shrill note from his reed pipes.

“I should be able to get us out of here if I could remember a ‘find path’ song!”

Ned started to play and Peter ran into a tree.

It took another mile of tripping over tree roots and sinking into mud for Peter to see a neon light. Then, he smelled greasy, unhealthy food. The complete opposite of what they served at Camp Half-Blood.

The smell and lights originated from a roadside curio shop that was across from a closed down gas station. Peter couldn’t even read the neon red sign. It was in cursive and his dyslexia couldn’t decipher legibly, printed English.

“What the hell does that say?” Harley voiced for the both of them.

“Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium,” Ned helpfully translated.

There were cement gnomes greeting them as they crossed the street, following the scent of hamburgers.

“Uh, hey,” Ned warned.

“There’s lights on,” Harley said. “It’s probably open.”

“Snack bar,” Peter said.

“Snack bar,” Harley agreed.

“This place is pretty weird,” Ned spoke up, “Are you both sure?”

We ignored him, too focused on the thought of food.

More cement statues filled the front lot, all different types of animals, children, and even a satyr.

“Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!”

They stopped in front of the door. 

“I smell monsters,” Ned said. “Don’t knock.”

Harley dismissed him, saying he was still smelling the Furies.

Ned pleaded for them to leave again, but the door creaked open.

A woman, covered head to toe, opened the door. “It’s late, children. Where are your parents? You shouldn’t be out all alone.”

Harley stumbled through a word and Peter took over.

“We’re orphans.”

“Surely not!” the woman cried.

“We were traveling with a circus and got separated from the caravan. The ring-master told us to meet him at that gas station if we got lost, but he might have meant a different one. We’re incredibly hungry, is that food I smell?”

Peter was known for rambling.

“Oh, poor dears,” the woman said. “Come in, come in! I am Aunty Em. There’s a dining area in the back of the warehouse, please join me.”

They went inside after thanking her.

“That’s the story you came up with?” Harley muttered to Peter.

“Always have a strategy, right?”

“Your head is full of spiderwebs.”

There were more cement statues inside, life-like. You’d have to have a pretty large garden to fit those. 

Peter was focused on food.

Not his surroundings.

She told them to sit down.

Ned told her that they didn’t have any money, but she waved that concern off.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harley said.

Aunty Em stiffened for a moment, relaxing soon after.

“Not a problem at all, Harley,” Aunty Em said. She complimented Harley’s eyes.

Peter would later realize that they had never introduced themselves.

Aunty Em disappeared behind the counter, appearing a couple minutes later with trays stacked high with food.

Peter and Harley scarfed down the food while Ned picked at his fries.

“Do you hear that hissing noise?” Ned asked.

Peter listened, but couldn’t hear anything. He and Harley shook their heads in unison. 

Aunty Em complimented Ned’s ability to hear the deep fryer and joined them at the table, not eating.

It was incredibly awkward, but this woman had given them a free meal and Peter’s brain was sleepy.

He tried to make small talk, talking about the statues.

She took custom orders for them, didn’t get much business since the highway was built.

Peter felt someone staring at him and he turned to see a young girl holding an Easter basket. The statue was incredibly detailed, but the girl looked terrified.

“The face is the hardest to get right,” Aunty Em noticed him looking.

She made the statues herself. Her sisters used to help her, but they passed away and she was left alone, with only the company of the statues.

Harley stopped eating. “Two sisters?”

Aunty Em explained her tragic backstory. The terrible boyfriend. Her sisters passing away.

“Peter?” Harley shook his shoulder. “We should go, the ring-master is probably waiting for us.”

Harley sounded stressed. Tense. 

Aunty Em complimented his eyes again, reaching out to stroke Harley’s cheek, but Harley stood up abruptly.

“We really need to go.”

“Yeah!” Ned agreed, swallowing his wax paper from the fries. “The ringmaster needs us.”

Peter was full. He didn’t want to leave. The place was comforting.

Aunty Em pleaded for them to stay, as she rarely saw children. She wanted them to pose.

Harley was shifting on his feet. “Ma’am, we really can’t stay for a picture.”

Peter disagreed. It was just a picture, what was the harm?

They followed her into the back garden.

She set them down on a bench.

“Not much light for a photo,” Peter remarked.

Ned asked where her camera was.

Aunty Em stepped back, evaluating their poses. “The face is the most difficult, make sure to smile wide, children!”

Ned muttered about the statue looking like his Uncle Ferdinand.

Aunty Em still didn’t have a camera.

“Peterー,” Harley said.

Peter was so comfortable. So tired. Nice and full. His instincts wanted him to listen to Harley.

“It will take a moment,” Aunty Em said. “I can’t see a thing with this veil…”

“Peter,” Harley insisted, “something’s wrong.”

Aunty Em told them that nothing was wrong.

Ned gasped. “That is my Uncle Ferdinand!”

“Look away!” Harley shouted, pulling on his cowboy hat and shoving Ned and Peter off the bench.

Peter heard a rasping sound above him, past her sharp bronze talons. He wanted to look higher, but Harley yelled at him to not.

It sounded like tiny snakes. Right where her head would be.

Ned ran and yelled for Peter to do the same. His best friend yelled “Maia!” and kicked off the ground.

Peter tried to fight the groggy feeling that Aunty Em had put on him.

“It’s a pity to destroy such a handsome face. Stay Peter, just look up,” she said soothingly.

Peter looked sideways instead of up. Into a glass sphere that people put in their gardens. 

He saw her reflection, her hair was moving like tiny serpents.

Aunty Em.

Aunty M.

Medusa.

‘How did she die in the myths?’ Peter thought to himself.

Peter was sure she had been asleep when she was killed in the myths.

“The Gray-Eyed One did this to me, Peter. Harley’s mother. Athena. She turned me into this,” Medusa said in that soothing voice.

It reminded Peter of a grandmother. Not a monster.

“Don’t listen!” Harley called from somewhere. “Run, Peter!”

Medusa snarled at him to silence, turning back to Peter and telling him that she planned to smash Harley’s statue. He was the son of her enemy.

“Dear Peter, you wouldn’t suffer.”

“No,” Peter said, trying to make his legs move.

“Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest, Peter? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain."

“Peter, duck!” Ned yelled.

Peter turned, seeing the satyr flying in the air, his eyes tightly shut, and a tree branch in his hands.

Ned called for him to duck again. 

Peter rolled out of the way.

Thwack!

Ned had hit her if the roar of rage was anything to go by.

Medusa cursed Ned.

Ned was going in for another hit. That he landed.

Peter scrambled to the sanctuary to hide.

“Peter!” Harley called, from right beside him.

Peter jumped. High. 

“Don’t do that!”

Harley yanked off his hat. “Her head. Cut it off.”

“You’re crazy!” Peter told the blond. “We have to get out of here!”

“Peter, we can’t leave her to kill more innocent people. You have the better weapon for this,” Harley grimaced. “Plus, she wants to kill me for what my mother did. You have to do it.”

He grabbed a green glass sphere, “Hm. A shield would be better, the convexity will cause distortion and the reflection’s size will be off.”

Harley pressed it into Peter’s hands, “Never look at her directly.”

Ned yelled out that he thought she was unconscious, but she roared in rage immediately.

Peter uncapped his sword and followed the sound of Medusa’s hair. He caught sight of her, just as she threw Ned off course by grabbing the stick in his hand.

Peter yelled at her before she could lunge at Ned’s prone body.

She let him advance and Peter watched her reflection in the glass.

“You would never harm an old woman, would you Peter?”

Peter wouldn’t. He hesitated.

Ned yelled at him to not listen to her.

Medusa lunged.

Peter sliced.

Something fell by his foot. He heard the sound of a monster disintegrating

It took all his willpower not to look.

“Yuck,” Ned said, his eyes were still closed, but he could hear the gurgling.

Harley walked up next to him, his eyes to the sky. He told Peter not to look and dropped Medusa’s veil over her severed head.

Harley leaned down and carefully picked it up. It was still leaking green juice.

“You okay?” Harley asked him, his voice had a tremble in it.

“Yeah,” Peter swallowed. “Why didn’t the head disintegrate?”

“It’s a spoil of war once you sever it. Just like your Minotaur horn,” Harley explained. “If you unwrap it, it can still petrify you.”

Ned climbed down from a grizzly statue with a groan, rubbing the welt on his head. The shoes were flying around his head.

“Nice job, dude.”

Ned gave a bashful grin. “That wasn’t fun. Some parts were, but mostly it wasn’t fun.”

He snatched his sneakers from the air as Peter recapped his sword. They all stumbled back into the warehouse, weary and exhausted.

They wrapped the head in some old plastic bags and set it on the table they had eaten at.

After recovering in silence for a bit, Peter finally asked.

“Athena created her?”

Harley glared. “Poseidon actually. They were caught in my mother’s temple and she turned her and her sisters into the gorgons. That’s why she wanted to kill me, not you.”

Peter’s face was on fire. “So, it’s my fault we met her?”

Harley mocked him in a bad New York accent, “It’s just a picture, Harley. What’s the harm?”

“You’re impossible”

“You’re insufferable,” Harley retaliated.

Ned interrupted them before they could continue, “Don’t give me a migraine! What are we doing with the head?”

Peter stared at the plastic wrapped head. 

He was angry at the gods. They were the reason that they were on this quest, the reason their bus got blown up, the reason he got into fights at camp. They were the reason that they weren’t going to be able to make it to LA alive at this point. 

Medusa had said something. 

About being a pawn for the Olympians. How Peter would be better off as a statue.

Peter got up, telling the others he’d be back.

“Peter,” Harley called. “Where are you going?”

Peter searched the back of the warehouse until he stumbled into Medusa’s office. She had recently sent six statues to decorate Hades and Persephone’s garden in the Underworld. The billing address for the Underworld was DOA Recording Studio. West Hollywood.

Peter pocketed that.

He took $20 and some drachmas from the register and found some packing slips. Hermes Overnight Express. Once he had the right size box, he left the office and went back to his companions. 

Setting the box on the table, he filled out the packing slip.

**THE GODS**

**MOUNT OLYMPUS**

**600TH FLOOR, EMPIRE STATE BUILDING**

**NEW YORK, NY**

**With best wishes,**

**PETER PARKER**

“Dude, they’re not going to like that,” Ned warned. “They’ll think you’re impertinent.”

Peter poured some drachmas into the pouch attached to the shipping label. The moment he closed it, a cash register noise sounded, the box lifted into the air, and it disappeared with a pop.

“I am,” Peter said.

He looked at Harley, seeing if the blond would criticize him for that.

Harley didn’t. He looked resigned to Peter’s lack of self-preservation and major talent for pissing off the gods. 

“We need a plan,” he said. “Let’s go.”


	3. peter falls. twice.

They camped in the woods that night. It was miserable. 

The ground was littered with trash from parties that local kids had hosted in the clearing they had found.

Aunty Em’s had some blankets that they stole, but they didn’t want to light a fire to draw more to them. They had enough excitement for one day. 

They slept in shifts and Peter took the first watch.

Harley was asleep the moment his head hit the ground. Ned flew up to a low branch and rested his back against the trunk.

Peter told him to sleep and Ned nodded, but didn’t close his eyes.

They talked about the trash on the ground and how upset it made Ned. Ned brought up Pan. 

The scent disappeared from the clearing for a moment, replaced with clean air, the smell of wildflowers, and clean water.

Peter asked him to tell him about his search.

Ned’s family had searched. His dad, his uncle. He’d be the first searcher to come back alive.

Not one satyr in two thousand years had returned once they started searching.

Peter was astonished that Ned would still want to go, even after everything seemed to be going against him.

“The Underworld,” Peter asked him. “How are we going to get there? How are we going to go against a god?”

“I don’t know. When you were in Medusa’s office, Harley was telling me of his plan.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Harley always has a plan.”

“Don’t be too harsh, Peter. He’s had a rough life, but Harley’s a good guy. I mean, he forgave me,” Ned trailed off suddenly.

“For what?”

Ned played his pipes.

“Wait, your first keeper job. It was five years ago and Harley’s been at camp for the same amount of time. Was he the assignment that went wrong?”

Ned’s lip quivered. “I can’t talk about it, dude.”

“Anyway,” the satyr continued. “Harley and I agreed that something odd was going on with this quest.”

Ned told him that the monsters seemed to be holding back. They weren’t killing Peter as quickly as they could have been, they were waiting to attack. They were asking where ‘it’ was, not where Peter was.

Ned stared at him. Peter had a feeling that he was reading his emotions again.

“I didn’t go on this quest to recover the master bolt. I don’t care about that. I just need to go to the Underworld, to get Aunt May back,” Peter admitted.

“I knew that,” Ned said. “Is that your only reason?”

“It’s not for my father.”

“You sure?” Ned gazed at him. “You’re glad he’s alive. You’re glad he claimed you. You want to make him proud, that’s why you mailed the head to Olympus. For him to notice you.”

“You’re wrong,” Peter told him. 

“Okay, Peter,” Ned relented. “I’ll take the first watch. You get some sleep, okay?”

Peter didn’t want him to take the first watch, but Ned started playing a soft Mozart piece and Peter fell asleep almost as fast as Harley did.

He dreamed.

Peter was in the Underworld. In front of a pit. Grey mist surrounded him, the spirits of the dead, pulling him away from the edge, but Peter went forward.

An ancient, heavy voice said  _ he was young and weak, but he would do _ .

_ Barter with me _ , it said.  _ I’ll give you what you want _ .

Aunt May appeared in front of him. The moment of her death.

Peter wanted to cry out. 

His voice didn’t work.

Cold laughter rose echoed around him, an invisible force was pulling him forward.

Peter planted his feet to prevent it from making him fall into the chasm.

_ Bring me the bolt _ , the voice crooned.  _ Help me rise. Go against the gods _ .

_ No _ ! The spirits around him cried. _ Wake _ !

Aunt May’s image began to fade as the thing in the pit tightened its grip on Peter. 

It was trying to pull itself out. Not pull Peter in.

Someone shook him awake.

Daylight.

“Well, good morning sleeping beauty,” Harley drawled, tossing him a bag of chips from the snack bar. “Breakfast.”

Peter looked up, his eyesight bleary from sleep. 

Ned was sitting cross-legged in front of him. A pink stuffed animal in his lap.

It yipped.

Not a stuffed animal. A pink poodle.

Ned was talking to it.

“You’re talking to a dog?”

The pink poodle growled at Peter and he put his hands up.

“This is our ticket west,” Ned informed him. “Be nice.”

“You can talk to animals?”

Ned ignored him and introduced him to the poodle.

Peter glanced at Harley, seeing if the blond would break out into laughter. Say it was a practical joke. Harley’s face was deadly serious.

“Peter,” Harley said. “Say hello to the poodle. I did, which means you do too.”

Another growl.

Peter said hello.

Apparently, Ned had stumbled across the poodle and there was a $200 reward for the poodle’s return. The poodle hated its family and didn’t want to go back, but would if it helped Ned. 

The poodle knew about the reward because he had read the signs; Peter was the dumb one for not knowing that.

“So, we turn him in, get the reward money,” Harley explained. “We get some tickets to LA.”

Peter thought back to his dream. That was what was waiting for him there. 

“No bus,” Peter said.

“Nah,” Harley agreed.

Harley gestured downhill. Peter looked and saw some train tracks that had been hidden in the darkness last night.

“Amtrak station ‘bout half mile away,” Harley said. “The west-bound train’ll leave at noon.”

Looks like they had their plan.

* * *

The Amtrak train ride lasted two days, traveling over rivers and through the hills as they went west.

No monsters or attacks occurred, but Peter didn’t allow himself to relax. He felt like he was being watched.

Due to his disappearance and car crash, his picture and description were everywhere, so Peter kept his head down.

Gabe was offering a reward for his return. 

“Don’t worry too much ‘bout it,” Harley assured him. “It’s unlikely that mortal police could find us.”

Peter paced the train. When he was glared at too much, he’d return to his seat and look out the window. 

A family of centaurs galloped parallel with the train once. The child waved.

No one else on the train saw.

He also saw an absolutely massive lion make its way through the woods.

Peter didn’t like thinking about what was.

That pink poodle had scored them seats on the train, but no beds. Peter’s neck was stiff every time he slept. Harley sat next to him, so Peter tried his best not to drool in his sleep.

Ned was a fretful sleeper, constantly making noise and shifting. 

Peter and Harley had to shove his fake foot back on once.

They had just put the satyr’s shoe back on when Harley asked him about his dream.

“Who wants your help?” the blond asked, and at Peter’s confused look, he elaborated. “You mumbled about not helping someone while you were asleep.”

Peter didn’t like sharing his dreams. But, this wasn’t the first time he had dreamt something similar, so he told Harley.

Harley pondered in silence. 

“It’s not Hades, he’s always on a black throne,” Harley informed him. “He never laughs either.”

“My aunt was offered as a trade,” Peter mumbled, hunched in his seat. “Who else?”

Harley thought again.

Harley tended to think before he spoke. Something Peter never did.

Maybe that’s why he got in trouble so much.

“Why would Hades ask you to bring you the master bolt?” Harley asked. “Doesn’t he already have it?”

Peter didn’t know the answer. He never seemed to. 

Ned had said that they believed that the Furies had been looking for something…

Ned shifted in his sleep like he felt Peter’s emotional turmoil.

“Darlin, Hades is deceitful and greedy. He doesn’t have a heart. He’s not gonna barter with you for your aunt,” Harley said. “I don’t care if his Kindly Ones weren’t as aggressive this timeー”

“Have you encountered them before?” Peter interrupted.

Harley didn’t seem to mind that he had interrupted, too focused on memories. He ran his fingers over the bead that had a pine tree on this necklace. “I’ve got no love for the Lord of the Dead. Don’t try to make a deal with ‘em, he won’t do you any good.”

“What would you do if it was your dad?”

Peter realized his mistake instantly, as Harley’s eyes shot to his with a sharp look. 

Harley hated his father, Peter knew this. Why did he ask?

“Easy,” Harley snarled. “I’d leave him to rot.”

Peter nodded.

Harley’s eyes bored into Peter and the brunet felt like they were looking at his soul. His face was as serious as it had been when the blond had drawn his knife against the hellhound in the woods. “My dad never wanted me. Athena didn’t like that, but she couldn’t stop him from leaving. Thankfully, my mama took me in.”

“How,” Peter started, suddenly thinking of something, “I mean, you weren’t born in a hospital…”

Harley grinned, but it wasn’t a happy smile. 

“Appeared on the doorstep in a golden cradle. My Mama said that my dad literally stepped over me. Too focused on going to get more cigarettes from the shop than to take care of an infant from a goddess. When my baby sister was born, he ignored me completely.”

Peter didn’t know how to make Harley feel better, but he wanted to.

“Aunt May remarried a horrible guy. Ned said that it was to protect me, but that man caused me more harm than good.”

Harley continued to fidget with his necklace, but he was focusing on the child’s ring. Peter realized it must’ve been his sister’s. 

“I ran away,” Harley finally said. “My dad had left already and all I did was draw monsters to my Mama and Abbie, so I decided to leave.”

Abbie must be the baby sister.

Harley’s eyes were soft as he thought about his family and Peter could tell that he missed them.

“When you ran away, how old were you?”

“Seven.”

“How did you get there?” Peter asked. “You were so young, there’s no way you made it there by yourself.”

“Not alone, you’re right. Athena watched over me and guided me there and I picked up some stray older kids to watch over me too. They were around for a little bit.”

Harley was lost in his memories at this point so Peter just looked out the window. He hated talking about his own past, so he understood why Harley stopped.

They were eight days off from the solstice when they made it to St. Louis. Harley stared at the Gateway Arch from the window for as long as he could. 

“I want to do that,” the blond sighed. “I want to create something that lasts. That’s remembered. You ever seen the Parthenon?”

“Only in the pictures of my textbooks.”

“I wanna build the greatest monument to the gods, something to beat the Parthenon. Something that will last thousands of years.”

Peter couldn’t see Harley as an architect.

“You want to be an architect?”

Harley’s cheeks flushed, which was a rare feat. The blond was always so confident and bold, Peter was surprised such a simple question could throw him off.

“Yeah,” Harley said defensively. “I want to create. It’s what Athena’s children are expected to do, unlike your parentage. Only tearing stuff down in earthquakes.”

Peter looked out the window and watched the Mississippi instead of responding.

“I’m sorry,” Harley finally muttered. “That wasn’t polite.”

“Is there any way we can work together? Be on the same page?” Peter pleaded. This quest wasn’t going to work if he and Harley were at each other’s throats the entire time. “Was there anything our parents cooperated on?”

“...the chariot, I guess,” Harley said after thinking about it. “My mom made the chariot, but Poseidon created horses, so that counts, right?”

“Perfect, that means we can work together, right?”

Peter watched as Harley looked at the Arch from the window until it disappeared behind a building. 

“I guess,” he relented.

An announcement declared that they had arrived and that it would be three hours until the train for Denver left. 

Ned woke up, requesting food. 

“C’mon, goat boy,” Harley nudged him with his foot, “We’re sightseeing?”

“We are?” 

“My only chance to see the Gateway Arch and ride to the top, we’re taking it,” Harley explained.

Peter didn’t want to, but there was no way they were splitting up.

Ned was all for it, as long there was a snack bar at the top without monsters.

The Arch was a mile from the station and the lines weren’t incredibly long as the day neared its end. They walked through the underground museum as Harley sprouted facts about everything he stopped to read and Ned passed Peter some jelly beans. All was well. 

Peter was more hesitant than he used to be, so he kept glancing around and asking Ned if he smelled anything, but all the shorter could smell was ‘underground’ scent.

Peter still felt off. 

“Hey, do you guys know the godly symbols of power?” Peter asked.

Peter felt bad briefly, pulling Harley away from reading about the Arch, but the blond still looked over with an affirmation.

“Well, Hadeー”

Ned coughed as if he was clearing out his throat. “Public place, dude. Don’t you mean our friend downstairs?”

Peter gave him a look. “Yeah, our friend downstairs. Doesn’t he have something similar to Harley’s hat?”

“Helm of Darkness,” Harley filled in. “That’s his symbol of power, I saw it next to him during the winter solstice meeting.”

“He’s allowed?”

Harley nodded. “It’s the only time he’s allowed in Olympus. The helm is way more powerful than my hat, though.”

Ned made a noise of affirmation. “It allows him to become darkness, completely undetectable. He can also radiate fear that’s so powerful it can drive you insane, that’s why rational creatures are afraid of the dark.”

That didn’t help Peter’s uneasy feeling.

“How do we know he isn’t here right now, watching us?”

Ned and Harley shared a look. 

“We don’t,” Harley said.

“Great. Love that for us,” Peter breathed. “Got any more blue jelly beans?”

Peter had almost overcome his jumpiness, but then they approached the tiny little elevator they would take to the top. 

Peter hated small spaces.

They got into the tiny little car with another woman and her tiny dog.

Peter hated being in the elevator. 

The lady asked where their parents were.

“They’re scared of heights, so they stayed in the museum,” Harley replied politely.

She gave a little huff, “Poor darlings.”

She didn’t say darling like Harley did. Harley did it casually, mindlessly. She said it as if she had forced it out.

When her dog growled, she patted its little head. “Sonny, behave.”

“Oh, is your dog’s name Sonny?” Peter asked curiously.

“No.”

Then she smiled.

When the elevator doors opened, Peter already hated it. 

It was a small, confined space, 600 feet in the air. 

He wanted to go immediately.

Harley was delighted though, talking about structural supports, window size, and a see-through floor. 

The park ranger announced that the observation deck was closing soon.

Peter led his companions to the tiny elevator, pushing them in before he realized that the elevator was full. 

He’d have to wait.

Harley offered to get off and stay with him, but Peter didn’t want to mess up the line even more so he waved them off, saying he would get on the next.

Harley and Ned looked nervous, but the elevator door closed anyway and they disappeared.

Peter, the lady with her dog, a small family, and the park ranger remained on the deck.

Peter’s uneasy feeling returned full force. 

He shot the lady a nervous smile.

She smiled back, her forked tongue poking through her teeth.

Monster.

Of course.

Her dog jumped out of her arms and started barking at Peter.

“Sonny,” she scolded. “Does this look like the right time?”

A young boy yelled about the puppy, but his parents pulled him back.

Foam dripped from the dog’s lips.

“If you insist, son.”

“Did you call your Chihuahua your son?”

Peter’s body felt cold.

“Chimera, not Chihuahua,” she corrected. “An easy mistake to make.”

The lady rolled up her sleeves and revealed scaly green skin. Her teeth were fangs. Her pupils were like a reptile’s.

Her dog was growing every time it barked.

The family ran when their son screamed in fear, bumping into the shocked park ranger. 

The Chimera barely fit in the building anymore. 

Lion’s head. Body of a goat. Serpent tail. 

It still had its collar on.

**CHIMERA- RABID, FIRE-BREATHING, POISONOUS- IF FOUND PLEASE CALL TARTARUS- EXT. 954**

Well, it breathed fire and was poisonous, Peter noted dully.

His hands were numb. 

“Be honored, Peter Parker! Lord Zeus rarely allows me to test a hero with one of my brood. For I am the Mother of Monsters, Echidna!”

Peter could only think of one thing. “Isn’t that a type of anteater?”

She howled in rage.

The Chimera lunged.

Peter dodged. Somehow.

He was standing next to the mortals that had been left up here.

Peter wasn’t going to let them get hurt. He uncapped Riptide and ran to the opposite side of the observation deck.

It spun incredibly fast and shot fire out of its mouth before Peter could even swing his sword.

Peter dove through the explosion, almost searing off his eyebrows from the heat.

There was a hole in the Arch where Peter had been standing.

Peter wanted to laugh. Oh, of course. Peter was now responsible for an act of terrorism.

Peter slashed at the Chimera’s neck when it turned to face him, but his sword glanced off the collar without a scratch and knocked him off balance. Before he could right himself, the serpent tail bit his calf.

His leg felt like it was on fire.

He tried to stab again, but the tail pulled him off balance and his sword flew out the gaping hole, all the way down to the Mississippi River.

Peter got to his feet finally, but he was weaponless and could feel the poison making its way through his body, towards his heart.

Maybe Anaklusmos would return to his pocket, but Peter didn’t know the technicalities of that. He didn’t know if it needed to be in pen form or if it had fallen too far, but he wasn’t going to live long enough to find out. 

Peter backed towards the sizzling hole as the Chimera advanced towards him. Echidna laughed. “They don’t make heroes like they used to, eh, son?”

The Chimera growled, taking its time to finish Peter off now that it seemed like he had been beaten.

Peter had to protect the mortals. He couldn’t die. His brain wasn’t working, his body felt like it was on fire, he was dizzy. He had no sword. Peter was terrified.

He couldn’t go anywhere else, so he continued to back up towards the hole. The river seemed so far below him.

"If you are the son of Poseidon," Echidna hissed, "You would not fear water. Jump, Peter Parker. Show me that water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline."

Peter would die on impact. Water from this height was as hard as asphalt.

The Chimera was prepping another blast of fire.

"You have no faith," Echidna told him. "You do not trust the gods. I cannot blame you, little coward. Better you die now. The gods are faithless. The poison is in your heart."

She wasn’t wrong. Peter felt the poison in his heart, his breathing slowing down. At this point, no one could save him.

Peter took another step backward, looking down at the water below him. He remembered his father’s smile, looking over the side of his crib. He remembered when he was claimed as Poseidon’s son.

There was no sea god in the middle of the Midwest.

“Die, faithless one,” Echidna rasped as the Chimera shot another column of fire towards him.

Peter sent a quick prayer to his father, turned, and jumped. 

* * *

Peter’s mind wasn’t calm as he fell.

It was just him screaming if he was going to be honest.

He could barely breathe in the wind, his vision couldn’t decipher anything he saw. Everything was too fast.

Then it wasn’t.

White bubbles surrounded him as he sank into the murky river. It hadn’t hurt, Peter realized. 

He was slowly falling through the water, and it hadn’t hurt. Six hundred feet. 

Litter swirled around him as he lightly landed on the river bottom.

Peter couldn’t feel the poison in his veins, he realized first. Then, he realized he wasn’t wet at all. He grabbed a lighter that was in the trash swirling around him and flicked it. A little flame burst at the bottom of the Mississippi River. 

Insane.

Anything he touched turned dry, but when he released it, it sogged back down under the weight of the water. He stood up on shaking legs, sinking into the mud.

He heard a voice, like his Aunt May’s, asking him what he should be saying.

“Thanks,” Peter said hesitantly, his voice underwater sounded like he had been recorded and played back. 

He had no idea why Poseidon saved him. He had left those mortals up there, probably dooming them to the monster’s rage. He wasn’t a hero. He was a disappointment.

A boat passed overhead and churned the garbage.

His sword gleamed, sticking out of the mud.

The voice returned, telling him to  _ take his sword _ .  _ His father wasn’t disappointed in him, he was proud of Peter. _

“Where are you?” Peter called out into the depths.

He saw a woman’s form, her hair matched the water. She was floating just above the sword and her eyes matched Peter’s.

She looked like Aunt May.

“Aunt May?” Peter asked around the lump in his throat.

_ No. I am a messenger. Go to the beach in Santa Monica, you’re Aunt’s fate isn’t as hopeless as you believe. _

“What do you mean?”

_ Before you descend into the Underworld, your father wishes for you to go to the beach in Santa Monica. Peter, I must go. The river is too foul for me to stay any longer. _

Peter could barely get any words out.

_ I cannot stay, brave one, _ she repeated, reaching out to caress his face.  _ Go to Santa Monica! Don’t trust the gifts… _

Her voice faded away and her image started to dissolve.

“What gifts?” Peter asked, helplessly.

He had lost his Aunt again.

Peter felt like drowning himself. The only problem: he was immune to drowning.

She had said that Poseidon was proud of him. She had said he was brave.

Peter grabbed Riptide, capping it, and tucking it into his pocket. He didn’t know which would be worse waiting for him at the surface: the Chimera or the mortal police wanted to ask him questions.

“Thank you, father,” Peter said into the water, before kicking up to the surface.

Everyone was watching the Arch, all the emergency responders and tourists, all except a little girl who told her mother that Peter had just walked out of the river completely dry. The mother ignored her.

There was a news reporter talking into a camera.

"Probably not a terrorist attack, we're told, but it's still very early in the investigation. The damage, as you can see, is very serious. We're trying to get to some of the survivors, to question them about eyewitness reports of someone falling from the Arch."

Peter’s chest loosened. Survivors. 

He made his way through the crowd, only to turn and duck away when another news reporter started to describe Peter’s appearance as the one responsible.

Peter couldn’t find Harley or Ned and he was about to give up looking, but then Ned called his name from somewhere behind him and Peter turned around and immediately got a hug from his best friend.

“We thought you’d gone to Hades the easy way!”

Harley was behind, trying to look angry but the relief was incredibly prevalent on his face. “We left you for five minutes! What the hell happened?”

“I sort of fell.”

“Parker, six hundred and thirty feet?”

Peter tried to answer but paramedics pushing the mother from the observation deck called out and they had to clear the way. She was rambling about what had happened on the observation deck as the paramedic tried to calm her down.

“I’m not crazy! This boy jumped out of the hole and the monster disappeared." Then she saw me. "There he is! That's the boy!"

Peter skedaddled.

Turning and walking into the crowd, hoping that Harley and Ned were following.

“Peter!” Harley demanded. “Was she talking about the Chihuahua from the elevator?”

Peter explained what happened, the monster, the fall, and what had happened underwater.

“We’ve got to go to Santa Monica!” Ned gasped. “You can’t ignore your dad’s wishes.”

They passed another newscaster, only this one had identified Peter to national televison.

They ducked away into an alley as quickly as they could.

“First thing we’ve gotta do is get out of town,” Peter told them.

Somehow, they got to the Amtrak station without fuss, and boarded just before it left for Denver. They left the police lights behind them as they rode further west. 

* * *

They had seven days left when they started for Denver. They were tired and dirty and hungry, but they continued on. When Harley led them to an empty car wash, Peter assumed it was to hose themselves down, but instead of setting the knob to the shower setting as Peter anticipated, Ned clicked it over to the  _ Fine Mist _ option. 

“What are we doing, exactly?” Peter asked. 

“Sending an Iris message to Tony,” Harley explained and then turned to Ned, “The Drachma, please.”

The satyr handed the coin over and Harley tossed it into the mist, “O Goddess, accept our offering,” He said, and it disappeared into a golden mist. Harley continued, “Let us speak to Half-Blood Hill.”

The mist shimmered again, shifting to show the view from the porch of the Big House. At the railing stood a familiar figure. 

“Beck!” Harley said, his relief obvious in his voice. The Counselor turned around, hearing his name called. 

“Harley! Peter! How are you guys? Where’s Ned?”

“He’s behind the nozzle,” Harley explained, “We’re… fine. Mostly. We were hoping to talk to Tony.”

“He’s down at the cabins, resolving some… issues with the campers.”

Then a car drove up to the stall beside them, bass booming so much it shook the walls. 

Harley rolled his eyes, “Ned, let’s go get them to stop.” Ned handed the nozzle to Peter and followed Harley out of the stall. Peter turned back to Beck through the mist. 

“What happened with the campers?” Peter asked.

Beck looked worried and ran his hand through his frosted tips, “Word got out about the conflict between Zeus and Poseidon. Cabins are starting to take sides. Athena is with Zeus but Apollo, Aphrodite, and Ares are with Poseidon. It’s getting bad,” He shook his head solemnly, “What about you? Any updates?” 

Peter nodded and began to tell him about everything that had happened. Even his dreams. They lost track of time, and before he knew it, the sprayer was dinging to indicate that he only had a minute left. 

“I wish I could be there to help you guys,” Beck said, “But I’ll just have to give my advice from here. It’s gotta be Hades that took the master bolt, Peter. It couldn’t be anyone else. He has his helm of darkness, it could make him invisible so he could take it.”

“But gods taking each other's magic items is banned?” Peter inquired.

“But it couldn’t be anyone else,” Beck said, his voice forceful. Then his demeanor softened, “Peter, you gotta take care of Harley for me. We’ve known each other forever and he… matters to me. Okay? Take care of him.”

Peter nods, “Of course. You don’t even need to ask.”

“Have you been wearing the flying shoes?” Beck asked. Shit. 

“Uh, yeah! Of course!” Peter lied through his teeth, “They work great!”

The water began to shut off, and the mist lightened.

“Take care of yourself out there in Denver! Tell Ned it’ll be better this time.” Beck said, and the mist was gone. 

It was then that Harley and Ned reentered the stall. They were laughing, but whatever they found funny was quickly forgotten when they saw Peter standing with the limp nozzle. 

“What happened?” Harley asked. Peter just shook his head. 

“Let’s just go get something to eat.” 

* * *

They found themselves in a diner nearby. A waitress came by and cocked an eyebrow at them. “Well?” She asked. 

“We- uh- want to order dinner,” Peter said, taking charge of the situation. 

“Do you got the money to pay for it kid?” The waitress asked. Peter bit his lip, but before he could respond, the group was distracted. 

A giant motorcycle roared into the parking lot and pulled up to the curb. The sides were painted with flames and it was fitted with leather and shotgun holsters. On it was an extremely tough-looking man with scars covering his cheeks. The other patrons of the diner stood and started to make their way out of the building in a trance. The biker dude waved them off, and they sat back down simultaneously. 

The waitress turned back to the three kids in the booth, “You have the money to pay?”

“It’s on me,” The biker said as he approached. He slid into the booth, leaving Harley very little room against the wall. The waitress nodded and walked away. 

After assuring Peter that he wasn’t upset that he had broken his son’s spear, Ares turned the conversation to the quest.

“I’ve been searching for it,” He said, “All the gods have. And if we haven't found it, some tiny demigod has no chance. 

“We’re doing okay, I think,” Peter said.

Ares just scoffed, “Right. You have no money, no food, no wheels, no clue what’s going on or where to look.” The god leaned toward them, “But if you help me out, I can give you something in return.”

This caught Peter's attention, “Like what?”

“Information on your Aunt.”

Peter froze, and continued cautiously, “What’s the task?”

“There’s a water park a mile off Delancy. Go there, and look for the Tunnel of Love ride.”

“What scared you off your date?” Peter smirked. 

Ares clenched his jaw, reminding Peter of Flash’s similar habit, “You’re lucky I came across you instead of another Olympian, pal. They’re not quite as forgiving about  _ sass _ . Go to the ride and I’ll meet you back when you’re done.” And he was gone. 

The tension that had been in Peter's body drained out of him. He quickly realized that it was just Ares’s energy making him feel so confrontational. 

“I guess we’re going to a waterpark then.”

* * *

After changing into some stolen waterpark merchandise from the gift shop, the trio found their way to the Tunnel of Love, gossipping about the gods as they strolled through the park. 

When they arrived they saw a boat in the pool with Ares’s shield sitting in it, alone. 

“This seems too easy,” Peter said, “It must be harder than just running down there and grabbing it.”

“Look here,” Harley said, running his fingers along the base of a nearby cupid statue, “The Greek letter  _ Eta _ .”

“I don’t smell any monsters of anything,” Ned said.

“Nothing-nothing or in-the-arch nothing?” Peter asked, a bit salty about what had happened in St. Louis.

“I said I was sorry for that dude, it was underground!”

Peter took a deep breath, “I’m going down there. Ned, you watch from above, and Harley, come with me-”

“Are you joking?” Harley interjected, “You want me to come with you into the  _ Tunnel of Love _ ? Someone could see us, that would be so embarrassing!”

“Who's going to see us? Ned?” Peter scoffed, “Whatever. I can do it myself.” He left towards the boat, and instead of protesting further, Harley followed him. 

As they approached the boat, Peter noticed a silk scarf sitting in the boat alongside the shield that had noticed earlier. When Peter picked it up to admire it, Harley snatched it out of his hands, “Don’t mess with love magic, Web Head. Just get the shield, and let's leave.”

Peter reached for the bronze shield, but his fingers touched a thin metal strand before he touched the shield. 

“Parker, wait,” Harley protested, “there’s another Eta on the side of the boat here, it’s a trap.” But he was too late. The ride whirred to life and the cupid statues moved, aiming their bows to shoot towards each other.

The arrows shot across the empty pool, leaving golden strands behind them, forming a net above the two boys in the gaudy boat. 

“Come on,” Peter said, grabbing Harley’s hand and tugging him out of the boat. Peter tried to climb up the sides of the pool but slipped down the steep walls. 

Ned was above them, holding up a corner of the net, “Come on!” He yelled. 

Cameras popped out of the eyes of the cupid statues and a countdown sounded around them. They had a minute to get out, or else the feed would be sent to Olympus. 

Spider-like robots appeared around the boat, crawling towards the boys, “Hey look Web Head, it’s you!” Harley quipped, and immediately regretted it as they climbed onto him, “Oh  _ no _ I take it back!” He squealed, which Peter thought was quite uncharacteristic for him. He’d never seen the other boy like this. 

Peter searched the park around them, looking for a solution while brushing the spider-bots off his body. “There!” He pointed to the water pipes behind the mirrors that surrounded the pool, “Ned, turn the water on!”

Harley continued screaming, and Ned flew over to the booth that controlled the ride. He pressed at buttons, but nothing happened. Peter, defeated, closed his eyes and imagined the feeling of water rushing around him.  Water burst from the pipes just as the countdown hit zero. The water washed away the spiders and Peter grabbed Harley’s arm, forced him into the seat, and buckled him in, just in time. The tidal wave slammed into their boat moments after. 

Peter did his best to control and calm the waters, but the boat was still led down the tunnel, around twists and turns. When the tunnel opened, the two boys peered down at the drop they were about to take, directly into an exit pool with a chained fence. 

“Unbuckle your seatbelt!” Peter screamed at Harley beside him.

“What?”

“Just trust me!” Peter strapped Ares’s shield to his arm, “Jump when I say so, and we’ll use the momentum from the boat to get us over the fence! On my go!”

“On your go? No, on mine.”

“What?”

“It’s simple physics-” Harley was cut off. They were nearing the bottom

“Ok, ok, your go!” Peter folded.

“Jump!” Harley yelled, and they sailed easily over the gate, and towards the asphalt on the other side of the exit pool. 

“Shit!” Peter said and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for impact. Before he hit, however, he found himself floating midair. He looked up to see Ned grabbing the back of his stolen waterpark shirt. 

“I can’t hold you for long, so, uh, we’re going down,” Ned said and they began their spiraling descent. And crashed into a photo board. 

After burying Ned out of the cut-out face of Noo-Noo the Friendly Whale, Peter turned to the cupid cameras at the beginning of the ride. “Show’s over!” He yelled, waving at the statues. 

The cupids turned back to the way they had been when they had arrived, and the park quieted, the only sound was the sound of the water in the Tunnel of Love’s exit pool. 

“I wonder if our Olympus-TV ratings were any good,” Peter mumbled. Ned gave a genuine chuckle, but Harley just scoffed.

Peter felt like he was being bullied again. He didn’t like being toyed with, even if the perpetrator was a god, “I think we need to have a little talk with Ares.”


	4. peter puts his knowledge of gambling to use

Alive. Aunt May was  _ alive.  _ Well, maybe not alive but she was savable, and that was what mattered. She was somewhere in the Underworld, waiting. Ares’s words rattled around in his mind,  _ Hostages, kid, they’re used to control someone. _

“Hey,” Harley said, tearing Peter away from his thoughts, “Sorry I freaked out back there.”

Peter blinked at him, “Oh, uh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just,” Harley’s face scrunched up, “I don’t like spiders.”

“Because of Arachne and your mom?”

Harley nodded, “Ever since, spiders have been taking revenge against the children of Athena. If there’s a spider nearby, it’ll find me. Point is,” Harley finally looked up to meet Peter’s eyes, “I owe you one.”

Peter shrugged, “I barely did anything, Ned was the one that really saved the day.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” Ned said, “It was  _ so cool _ !” Peter had thought he was asleep. He and Harley laughed. 

Harley took an Oreo from the container Ares had given them, “Did Beck really say nothing on the Iris message?”

“He said that you and him go way back,” Peter offered, “And that Ned wouldn’t fail this time. No one would turn into a pine tree,” Peter paused, “When MJ befriended two other half-bloods, that was you and Beck, wasn’t it?”

Harley cast his eyes down and nodded. He opened his mouth to speak up, but Ned started before he could get a word out. 

“I should have told you before we left,” Ned said, “But I didn’t think you would want me on the quest if you knew I was a failure,” Peter started to object, but Ned waved him off, “I was supposed to get MJ, and only MJ. Nothing else to distract from the mission. But I found Beck and Harley and I couldn’t just  _ leave _ them.”

Harley patted Ned’s shoulder, “No one blames you. I don’t, MJ wouldn’t.”

“The Council did!” Ned burst, “They said it was my fault. I’m such a lame satyr.”

“You’re not lame, Ned,” Harley said, “I don’t know any other satyr that was willing to go to the Underworld with someone who’s hated by, like half of Olympus. Peter and I are really happy you’re here.”

“It’s not just luck that you found MJ and I. You did that, Ned, not anyone else. You’re a natural searcher,” Peter spoke up.

Ned just sighed, and his breathing deepened. He was asleep.

Peter let out a light chuckle,” How does he do that?”

“I have no idea.” Harley began to fiddle with the first bead on his necklace, the one with the pine tree on it. 

“Is that from your first year?” Peter asked. Harley looked shocked, not realizing he had been playing with it, “Sorry I didn’t mean to pry,” Peter continued. 

“No, it’s, uh, it’s fine. Yeah, it’s from my first year. Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer and paint it on that year’s beads. I also have a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress, that was an interesting year…”

“Whose ring is it?” Peter interjected, “If you, uh, don’t mind my asking.”

Harley smiled fondly down at the ring, “My little stepsister Abbie’s. She sent it to me in a letter two years ago, because she said she missed me. She wanted me to come home but…” He trailed off.

“But what?” Peter said, “It sounds like she really wants you back, and it must be lonely at camp year-round.”

“I did go back, but I kept getting attacked. I couldn’t keep putting her in danger, so I came back before winter break.”

“Will you go back?”

Harley shook his head sadly, “Not likely. I love Abbie and her mom to death, but I can’t keep putting them in danger like I did back then.”

“You should write to her again, after we get back.”

“Thanks for the advice,” he said, “But I don't want to get her hopes up.”

They were both silent for a few moments, until Peter spoke again, “What happens if thighs get as bad as the Trojan War, if the gods fight? Will you fight with Zeus, like Athena is?”

“I’ll fight on your side,” Harley replied simply.

“Not with your mom?”

“No. You’re my friend, Web Head, I’ll fight next to you no matter what side my mom is on.” Harley sounded groggy, his voice was drooping. Peter didn’t have time to respond before Harley was asleep. Peter smiled at the other boy, and followed suit, though not easily. 

The nightmare started out like the ones he had experienced before. He was taking a standardized test while stuck in a straightjacket, and the teacher was berating him about not having the pencil in his hand. 

He looked around him and noticed that something was different than this dream usually was. Next to him was a girl unruly dark hair and dark eyeliner, he somehow knew she was MJ, daughter of Zeus. 

“One of us has to get out of here, Web Head.” she said, and the straightjacket melted off him. The teacher’s voice warped and said, “Yes, the exchange went well.”

Peter was transported to a dark cavern, spirits drifting all around him. Disembodied voices conversed about deception and stealing and Zeus and Poseidon, until they realized he could hear them. 

“So you wish to dream of your quest, half-blood?” One voice asked, “Then dream of it.”

The image changed, and he was standing in a dark throne room, with Aunt May standing, stuck in the position she had appeared in, surrounded by a cloud of shimmering gold dust. Peter tried to step towards her, reach out, do  _ anything _ , but he was frozen in place. 

The evil voice rang out around him, laughing, “All hail the conquering hero!”

Peter woke up shaking. 

Ned’s hands were on his shoulders, “We have to hide, the truck’s stopped and I think they’re going to check on the animals. 

They ended up releasing the animals. Whoops. But Peter had spoken to a zebra, which was pretty cool and, surprisingly, not very weird. It was kinda hard to shock him these days. 

“Will the animals be okay?” Peter asked, “Las Vegas isn’t their native habitat. It’s the middle of the desert.”

“They’ll be fine,” Ned explained, “I put a satyr’s sanctuary on them. They'll be able to find food, water, and shelter until they find a place to live.”

Peter just blinked at his friends, “And you couldn’t put that on us?”

“It doesn’t work on humans, only wild animals.”

“So it’d work on Peter,” Harley nodded. Peter gave him a shove. 

“I’m joking!” He laughed, “Come on, let's get going.”

The trio wandered through the unfamiliar streets in Las Vegas until they found themselves in front of a place called the Lotus Hotel and Casino. They were about to pass by, but the doorman stopped them. 

“Hey, you kids look tired. Want to come in and sit down?” He asked.

Peter didn’t find himself alarmed by the man, he seemed safe, so the trio followed the doorman inside, and found themselves shocked at the luxurious interior of the casino. There were games, a waterslide, VR suits, laser guns, hundreds of video games, the whole lobby was just boasting with money. 

A man handed them a room key and told them their expenses were taken care of. Unlimited money to spend during their stay in the haven they had stumbled across. 

They made it up to their assigned room and found a balcony with a hot tub, clothes that were exactly their size in the closet, plenty of food. Peter felt like every worry he had ever had was pushed to the edges of his brain, and he was completely relaxed. He knew there was some issue, lingering in the recesses of his mind, that he needed to take care of, but it could surely wait for him to take a small break. 

Harley clicked on the National Geographic channel, ever the nerd, and Peter called him out on it. 

Peter lived the next few hours bathed in luxuries he never thought he would be able to afford. He went bungee jumping, went down the waterslide, snowboarded on an artificial slope. He found Ned at the reverse sharp-shooter games, shooting at redneck hunters. Harley had found a 3D city building game that was basically his dream. It was cool, sure, but Peter didn’t quite understand his obsession with it when he could be  _ bungee jumping _ . 

And then there was a catch. A 13-year-old boy wearing bell-bottoms and with greased back hair. He looked like he had walked straight out of the 70s. Peter thought there was something off-putting about him. “This is groovy, man,” He mumbled as Peter passed by him.

“Hey, do you know what year it is?” Peter asked him. 

It took him a moment to come up with the answer, “1977. You stunned, dude?”

Peter’s face twisted into a shocked expression but didn’t respond. “Spaz,” the kid said, and walked away. 

Peter continued asking around. People answered him with a variety of years, 1993, 1985, the answers varied depending on the person. He started to notice how everyone seemed to wear the style of clothes from a different era, and either didn’t know how long they’d been there or claimed it had only been a few days or weeks. 

Peter tried to remember how long he had spent in the casino. It felt like a few hours, but how long had it really been?

He searched his mind for what he was supposed to be doing. His name was Peter Benjamin Parker. His father was Poseidon and he was raised by… May Parker. He was here with Harley and Ned. He was on his way to LA. He had to return Zeus’s lightning bolt. 

He found Harley still building a city at the simulator. He hadn’t moved. 

“We need to get out of here,” Peter said. Harley didn’t respond. Peter slapped his arm, “Harley, wake up. Look here.” Harley’s eyes were on him, but they were glassy and unfocused, “We have to leave-”

“Why would I leave, I’m busy,” Harley said.

“It’s a trap. We have to get to LA. The Underworld? Our quest? Remember?” He just tilted his head and turned back to the game. Peter shoved himself between his friend and the game. “Harley. Spiders. Creepy-crawlies. Remember them?”

Harley seemed to snap awake, “Shit. We need Ned. How long have we-”

“I don’t know. Come on, let's go find our satyr.”

He was found by the hunting games, as Peter had last seen him. Without even addressing him, Peter and Harley each took an arm and dragged him away, out of the building. The man behind the desk tried to get them to stay, but they marched past him. Peter found Ares’s backpack was back on his shoulder, despite the fact that he was sure he had left it in their room at the hotel from hell. He marched over to the first newsstand he saw and picked up the paper. 

It was June twentieth. They had one day left. 

* * *

They used the Lotus cards to hail a cab to take them to LA. Was it illegal because the money was fake? Maybe. Did they care? Not really. They were crunched for time. 

They arrived in LA at sunset and were dropped off at the beach. Peter felt drawn to the water almost immediately. Harley tried to protest, told him that the water was polluted, but Peter just kept going until he was submerged. 

He just walked down the shoals. He could breathe normally underwater, he found, and it was interesting to see the ocean in a way he never had before. He jumped when a mako shark slid past his legs, but once he was over his surprise, grabbed onto its fin and let it take him where it was trying to go, down deep into the ocean until he heard a voice like May’s call his name. In the distance, he saw the woman form in the distance, riding in on a stallion-sized sea horse, the same one who had spoken to him in the Mississippi River. 

_ Hello, Peter Parker. I am a Nereid, spirit of the sea. It has been many years since a child of the Sea God has been born. _

Peter’s mind danced with images of smiling women hiding in the waves when he visited the beach as a child. 

The Nereid explained to him why his father could not speak with or help him directly, claiming that he didn’t want to fuel the incoming war. Then, she held three pearls out to him,  _ I know that you journey to Hades’s realm. Few mortals have done so and survived. What talent do you have that qualifies you for such a venture? _

“Um, I don’t really have any great talents. I’m a kid, at least that's what everyone seems to call me.”

_ Dear boy, _ The woman spoke softly,  _ the oracles have seen a great and terrible future for you. Take these, and smash them at your feet when you are in need. _

“What do they do?” Peter looks down at the pearls in his hand.

_ That depends on what you need. Remember, what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea. Now goodbye, young hero, and listen to your heart _ .

“Wait, I have more-” He was whisked away by the current, and was on the shore, clothes completely dry, within moments. When Harley and Ned asked what happened, he held out the pearls and relayed the Nereid’s advice. 

Using the spare change from Ares’ Bag of Useless Shit, they took a bus to West Hollywood in search of DOA Recording Studios. The driver said he had never heard of the place. 

“Hey,” he said to Peter after offering them little useful information, “You some kinda child actor or somethin’? You look familiar. Tom something?”

“Uhh, no, I’m a stunt double for some child actors though. Might be who you recognize me.”

“That would do it. Have a good day, kid.”

The trio thanked him and got off on the next stop. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the best part of town, and they found themselves chased into a random building by a band of teenage street hooligans. They ended up in a store called  _ Crusty’s Water Bed Palace.  _

“I think we lost them,” Ned said, breathing heavily. 

“Lost who?” The man that walked up behind them looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. His general appearance was unsettling to Peter, “I’m Crusty.” Peter held back the urge to agree.

“Sorry sir, we’re just browsing,” Peter said as politely as possible. 

“You were hiding from those kids, you can say it. I get a lot of people ‘round here because of them.” Crusty gave them a yellow smile, “Let's go see some water beds.”

Within moments, Crusty had Ned and Harley tied to water beds, about to elongate their spines so that they fit the bed perfectly. Peter was beginning to think that he wasn’t actually your friendly neighborhood water bed salesman. 

“I can’t stand imperfect measurements,” Crusty said, “So I’ll just have to make them fit. 

“Your name isn’t really Crusty, is it?” Peter asked.

“Legally, it’s Procrustes,” He replied, “But no one can seem to pronounce that right, so Crusty it is.”

“The Stretcher,” Peter realized. Then, he got an idea, “Your workmanship with the beds really is stellar, Crusty. Wanna show me some?”

“Well, it's not often I get a customer who truly appreciates my work! I would love to show you.”

“Parker? What’re you doin’?” Harley cried from where he was roped down.

“Ignore him, he’s impossible.” Peter waved his friend’s protests off.

Crusty nodded and led him over to another water bed, boasting the wave stabilizer function it had. 

“Wow, would it work even on a bigger dude like you? Can I see?”

“Of course!” Crusty was clearly quite excited to have a customer that had a passion for water beds akin to his.

When he sat on the bed, Peter snapped his fingers and said “ _ Ergo _ ,” Just as Crusty had when he tied Peter’s friends to their respective water beds. 

Peter uncapped Riptide and held it over Crusty’s head, “Just gotta take a few inches off the top, and then you’ll fit.” He swung, and Crusty was gone.

After slicing his quest mates out of their ties, he turned to Harley, “You look taller, Cowboy.”

“Shut up, Web Head. Be faster next time.”

After finding a flier on Crusty’s bulletin board with an address for DOA Recording Studios, they were on their way to the Underworld. 

* * *

  
  


They stood in front of DOA Recording Studios on Valencia Boulevard. The sign was gold and eye-catching, and the glass doors read NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

Despite the late hour, the lobby still looked incredibly busy and there was a guard behind the security desk.

Peter turned to his friends, “Remember the plan?”

Ned nodded with a gulp.

“What if the plan doesn’t work?” Harley asked.

“You can’t think negatively,” Peter replied, despite his own negative thoughts about the plan.

“Sure,” the blond said. “I shouldn’t think negatively when we are entering the Land of the Dead.”

Peter took out the pearls and fiddled with them, incredibly suddenly nervous about the final part of the quest.

“Peter, I’m sorry,” Harley put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.”

The blond nudged Ned and gave him a look. 

“Yeah!” Ned said with forced enthusiasm. “It will be fine dude. Find the master bolt, save your Aunt, save the world. Not a problem.”

Peter was so grateful to have them as friends, as they continued to brave all the bullshit that had been thrown at them. He pocketed the pearls.

“Let’s kick some Underworld butt.”

They walked into the lobby.

It was an incredibly modern look. All greys and blacks. It was also packed. No one was really doing anything, but if Peter looked directly at them, they became transparent.

They waltzed up to the security guard’s raised podium, an elegant looking man in a suit. 

Peter tried to read the name tag.

“Your name is Chiron?” he asked in bewilderment.

The man leaned over the desk, giving Peter a sharp smile. It reminded him of a snake. 

“Precious young lad,” the man said in a British accent. “Charon, Mr. Charon to you younglings.”

“Mr. Charon,” Peter dutifully repeated.

“Perfect! Now, how may I help you little dead ones?”

Peter wasn’t prepared for the question and looked to Harley for support.

“We’d like to go to the Underworld, sir,” Harley said with that ever-present southern politeness. 

“Refreshing,” Charon’s mouth twitched.

“Really?” Peter asked.

“No screaming, just straightforward and honest,” he explained. “You didn’t even try to beg me. It’s nice. Now, how did you die?”

Peter nudged Ned.

“Bathtub,” Ned said, “We drowned in a bathtub.”

“All three of you?”

We all nodded. 

“Impressive. Must’ve been a big bathtub,” Charon nodded. “Okay, I assume you don’t have any coins for passage? With adults, we just charge their credit card or their latest bill. But children never die prepared, suppose you’ll have to take a seat for a few centuries.”

“But, we do have the coins,” Peter told him, setting three drachmas on the counter.

“Real drachmas,” Charon moistened his lips. “I haven’t seen these in…”

His hand hovered over the coins greedily.

So close.

“You couldn’t read my name correctly,” Charon remembered. “You dyslexic, lad?”

“No,” Peter replied. “I’m dead.”

Charon leaned forward and took a sniff of them, “You’re not dead. You’re godlings, I should have known.”

“We need to get to the Underworld,” Peter insisted.

Charon growled.

The rest of the spirits began to move as if they were waiting for something.

“Leave,” Charon told them, “while you can. I’ll take these.”

Peter snagged back the coins. “No service, no tip.”

Charon let out another growl and the spirits became more restless.

“Such a shame,” Harley said. “We had more to offer you, as well.”

Peter nodded, grabbing the bag from Crusty’s stash and running the coins through his fingers.

“Do you think I can be bribed, godling?” Charon’s growl had shifted into a purr. “How much do you have there? Just out of curiosity.”

“Quite a lot,” Peter started and Harley took over with: “I bet Hades doesn’t pay you enough for all your hard work, does he?”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Charon sighed, then discussed many reasons why he deserved a raise.

“You deserve better,” Harley said.

“Yeah, a little appreciation, respect, good pay,” Peter said, stacking more coins on the pile with every word.

Charon considered it a moment.

“You’re making some sense now, lads.”

Peter stacked a couple more coins. “I could mention a pay raise when I talk to Hades.”

Tipping point.

Charon sighed. “Boat’s almost full, might as well add you three and be off.”

He grabbed the money and stood. “Come along.”

He escorted us to the elevator, through the spirits that grabbed at their clothing. Pulling two people out of the elevator, he shuffled us in and told the remaining spirits the rules for when he was gone.

Charon shit the doors and the elevator began to descend.

“What happens to the spirits in the lobby waiting?” Harley asked.

“Nothing.”

“For how long?” he prodded.

“Forever,” Charon said, “or until I’m feeling generous.”

“That’s fair.”

Charon looked at the blond. “Whoever said that death was fair, lad? You’ll die soon enough, then you’ll know”

Peter felt a rush of anger. “We’ll get out alive.”

Charon laughed a single “Ha!” in response.

Peter abruptly got dizzy. The elevator was going forward, the spirits changed shape, clothing changed, then the floor started swaying.

Peter blinked. Hard. Charon had transformed out his suit and into robes, his eyes empty sockets like Ares. 

“I think I’m getting seasick,” Ned groaned.

Peter blinked again.

The elevator was gone, they were standing on a barge. Charon was poling them along, through water filled with bones, dolls, diplomas, and other odd objects.

“The River Styx,” Harley murmured, looking into the water. “It’s…”

“Polluted,” Charon provided. “Humans have been throwing away hopes, dreams, and wishes that never came true for thousands of years.”

The filthy water emitted mist towards the stalactite filled ceiling. They were heading towards the shore. It glittered green. Like poison.

Peter wanted to leave. He didn’t belong here. These people were dead! He was alive!

Harley grabbed his hand. 

Under any other circumstances, Peter would’ve blushed or been embarrassed. But this wasn’t a normal situation. They both needed the reassurance that someone else on this boat was alive. 

Peter muttered a prayer, although he didn’t know to whom he should direct it. Only Hades mattered down here.

They neared the black sand of the other shore and Peter heard a howl from an animal far off.

Charon smiled. “Bad luck, godlings. Old Three-Face is hungry.”

The boat reached the shore and the dead disembarked. Old and young. 

“I’d wish you luck,” Charon said. “But, there isn’t any down here. Don’t forget to mention my pay raise.”

Charon counted the coins, then turned and poled the boat back across the river.

They followed the spirits.

Peter might have been imagining a movie scene for what he was about to see, but the cross between airport security and the Jersey Turnpike was not something he was expecting.

Three separate entrances through the large archway, each had metal detectors and security cameras, manned by toll booths.

Despite the howling getting louder, Peter still couldn’t spot Cerberus. 

Three lanes. Two that were labeled Attendant on Duty, and one lane moving faster than the others: EZ Death. 

“What do you think?” Peter asked Harley.

“EZ Death goes straight to the Asphodel Fields,” Harley said. “They don’t risk judgment from the court. Don’t wanna get the bad option.”

“A court? For dead people?”

“Mhm,” Harley hummed, looking around. “Three judges, they switch out occasionally. Usually notable people. Judge your life and determine where you go. Fields of Elysium for the good ones, punishment for the bad ones, or Asphodel Fields for the mundane ones.”

“What do they do in the Asphodel Fields?”

“The closest thing I can think of is standing in the middle of a wheat field in Kansas,” Ned said, “Forever.”

“Yikes.”

“Not as bad as that, though,” Ned muttered, nodding his head towards a preacher being frisked at the security desk.

“Remember that preacher from the news?”

Peter did. The man had raised millions for orphanages and then spent it on his mansion and stupid stuff, like gold plated toilet seats. Police chase led to him driving his “Lamborghini for the Lord” off a cliff.

“What are they doing to him?”

“Hades likes to give special punishment to the really bad folks when they arrive,” Harley told him. “The Kindly Ones will be in charge of his eternal torture.”

Peter abruptly realized that he was in the Furies territory now. Great.

“Doesn’t he believe in a different hell?” Peter asked. “He’s a preacher.”

Ned gave a shrug, “Who’s to say he’s not seeing it the same way we are? Humans see what they wanna see.”

They moved closer to the gates and the howling got louder. Peter still didn’t know where it was coming from. Until he looked up through the green mist. 

A huge shadowy monster had moved. Peter had been looking directly at it, just as he had been with the spirits, so the dog had been transparent. 

“He’s a Rottweiler,” Peter gaped.

That was again, not what he was expecting to see. It seemed the Underworld liked to throw his perceptions out the window. There was no window down here, but his point was still made.

All of the spirits approached Cereberus without fear, walking around him or straight under his paws.

“I’m starting to see him better,” Peter murmured. “Why?”

Harley moistened his lips. “I’m afraid that it’s because we’re getting closer to being dead.”

Cereberus lifted his head and looked towards them, sniffing the air and growling.

“He can smell living people,” Peter noted.

“That’s okay,” Ned said, trembling. “We have a plan.”

“Right,” Harley said, his voice as small as Peter had ever heard it. “A plan.”

They moved closer and the middle head barked at them.

“Ned, can you understand him?”

“Yep,” Ned said, his eyes wide. “I can understand him.”

“What’d he say?”

“Uh, humans don’t have a four letter word that translates, exactly.”

Peter loved dogs, don’t get him wrong. But this was a bit different. 

He pulled the stick out of his backpack. It was a bed-post from Crusty’s floor model, but it seemed to do the trick. Peter smiled as best he could.

“Hey, Big Boy,” he called. “I bet they don’t play with you much.”

Cereberus growled.

“Good boy,” Peter said weakly.

He waved the stick around above his head. The middle head followed it carefully, while the other two watched Peter with apt attention. Peter had never wanted a dog’s full attention less in his life.

“Fetch!” Peter threw the stick. Directly into the River Styx.

Cereberus wasn’t impressed. He glared.

Well, that plan failed.

Cerberus growled. Using all three of his throats.

“Peter?” Ned whimpered.

“Yeah?”

“Cereberus says that we’ve got ten seconds to pray to our gods of choice. He’s,” Ned hesitated, “hungry.”

“Wait!” Harley said, pulling his pack off his back and digging through it.

“Five seconds,” Ned said helpfully.

Harley triumphfully pulled out a red rubber ball, labeled WATERLAND, DENVER, CO., and the size of a grapefruit. Peter didn’t have time to stop him before Harley raised the ball high above his head and marched directly up to Cerberus.

“See this ball?” Harley shouted. “You want it, Cerberus? Sit!”

Cerberus cocked his heads. Stunned.

“Sit!”

Peter was about to watch Harley die, he was sure of it.

But then Cerberus licked all three sets of lips. And sat. 

“Good boy!” Harley praised, throwing the ball towards him.

Cerberus’ middle mouth caught it and the other heads immediately started fighting the middle head, trying to get the tiny ball.

“Drop it,” Harley ordered.

The heads stopped fighting, looking down at Harley. With a whimper, he dropped the ball at Harley’s feet.

“Good boy.” Harley picked up the monster spit covered ball, ignoring how gross it was.

Harley turned to look at them, “Go. EZ Death line, it’ll be fastest.”

“But-”

“Now.” Harley used the same ordering tone he had been using on Cerberus.

He and Ned inched forward and Cerberus started to growl.

“Stay! If you want the ball, stay!”

The massive dog let a whimper but didn’t move.

“What about you?” Peter asked when he passed the blond.

“I know what I’m doing, darlin. Pretty sure, at least.”

Ned and Peter walked through Cerberus’ legs and prayed Harley wouldn’t tell the dog to sit again. They made it through, hearing Harley praise Cerberus again.

Harley raised the tiny red ball. If he threw it, he’d be left with no distractions for the dog. He threw it anyway.

The left head snatched it up and got attacked by the middle head, while the right head moaned in protest. 

Harley quickly walked through the legs while Cerberus was distracted, joining them at the other side.

“How?” Peter asked, amazed.

“Worked with animals my whole childhood,” Harley said, breathlessly. Peter was shocked to see some moisture in the blond’s eyes. 

“Come on!” Ned pulled them along.

Cerberus let out a pitiful moan from all his mouths the moment they were going to run through the line. Harley stopped and turned, looking at Cerberus, who had turned around completely to look at them too.

Cerberus was panting expectantly, the tiny red ball in pieces in a puddle of drool at his massive feet.

"Good boy," Harley said, but his voice sounded melancholy and uncertain.

Cerberus cocked all three heads, seemingly worried about Harley.

“Another ball, I’ll bring you another ball, soon,” Harley promised faintly. 

Cerberus whimpered.

“Good dog. I’ll visit soon, I promise,” Harley’s voice was shaky. 

“Let’s go,” the blond told them.

The metal detectors went off immediately, blaring. Cerberus barked.

They ran through the gate, into the Underworld.

Minutes later, they were all hiding in a rotten tree trunk as security ghouls rushed past.

“Peter,” Ned panted. “What have we learned today?”

“Massive three-headed dogs prefer rubber balls over sticks?”

Harley huffed a laugh and Ned groaned.

“No. We’ve learned your plans suck!” Ned informed him.

Peter thought that Harley and him both had the right idea. Everyone needed attention once in a while, even in the Underworld, and even if it was a massive three-headed dog guarding the gates.

Peter pretended he didn’t see Harley furiously swipe a tear from his cheek and he listened to Cerberus’ mournful whimpers in the distance. Longing for his new friend.


	5. ned's hooves save the day

The Fields of Asphodel was like nothing like Peter had ever seen. Maybe if he had seen a football stadium full of fans, the electricity cut, and nothing but whispers in the crowd. No excitement, no life.

There were a few clumps of blank treesーpoplarsーamong the flattened grass.

The ceiling was so tall above them, Peter could only see the stalactites through the clouds. They were spotted throughout the field where they had fallen and Peter desperately hoped that they wouldn’t fall on them.

The three of them attempted to get lost in the crowd, to hide from the security ghouls. Peter couldn’t recognize any of the faces around him, they shimmered and shifted from angry to confused. When they approached, they would try to talk, but all Peter could hear was a chatter. They drifted away. Upset.

Peter decided that the dead weren’t scary. They were only sad.

Eventually, they reached a tented pavilion, stating: JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION.

Peter looked past the tent, seeing the Fields of Punishment. Sectioned off areas full of every torture that Peter could even think of. The other side led somewhere better. Elysium. Beautiful houses, plants growing, and laughter.

In the center was a blue lake, with three islands in the middle. The Isles of the Blest. Where people who had been reborn three times and achieved Elysium every time. Peter immediately knew that was where he wanted to end up.

“That’s what it’s all about,” Harley noted, as if he had read Peter’s thoughts. “That’s the place for heroes.”

It was unlikely. Peter had seen the differences in size between Elysium and the Field of Punishment and the Fields of Asphodel. So little people did enough good in their lives.

Leaving the judgment pavilion, they moved closer to the Fields of Asphodel. Their clothes faded in color, the light dimmed. There were less chattering spirits. 

They walked for miles before Peter heard a familiar screech. There were the Furies, waiting on top of the palace they had been moving towards.

“Too late to turn back?” Ned asked.

“We will be okay,” Peter said, more confidently than he felt.

Ned suggested that they visit Elysium first. 

“Nah, goat boy, come on,” Harley grabbed Ned’s arm.

Ned yelled, being pulled back from his sneakers and landing flat on his back.

“Ned, stop foolin’ around,” Harley scolded.

“I’m not-”

Ned yelped, his sneakers pulling him off the ground and away from us.

The satyr was yelling the magic word, but the shoes were ignoring him.

Peter tried to grab Ned’s hand, but the shorter was out of reach and being pulled downhill, gaining speed.

Harley and Peter ran after.

Harley called for Ned to untie the shoes. A good idea, but impossible when they were pulling you full speed down a hill. 

They continued to chase him.

It looked as though he was going to Hades’ palace but the shoes shot to the right abruptly. Down a steeper slope, faster.

Peter and Harley were sprinting to try to keep up, following the satyr into a tunnel. No longer was there grass or trees.

“Hold on to something, Ned!” Peter yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. 

Ned fumbled to grab something, anything, but the gravel didn’t provide any help. 

The tunnel got darker, colder, Peter’s arm hair bristled, his nose twitched at the smell. It made him think of things he should never know about.

He looked ahead and stopped.

The tunnel widened, revealing a chasm. That Ned was heading right for.

Harley grabbed his wrist, yelling at him to keep moving.

“That’s-”

“Yes! I know!” Harley shouted. “The place from your dream! Ned’s going to fall in if we don’t catch him.”

Why was Harley always right?

Peter started towards Ned again, but he doubted they would get there in time. The satyr was flying backward too quickly.

Honestly, Peter and Harley didn’t save him. 

His hooves did. 

The shoes were loose and one flew off and into the pit when Ned hit a large rock. With one shoe, he moved much slower and was able to anchor himself on a big rock. Peter and Harley snagged him, only ten feet from the edge, and started dragging him back up the hill. 

His other sneaker tugged itself off, kicked them all in the head, and joined its twin in the chasm. 

They fell to the ground in exhaustion. Everything felt heavy, Peter’s limbs, his backpack, and his mind. 

Ned was pretty beat up, his hands were bleeding and his eyes had shifted into the goat style pupils.

He panted, trying to explain himself but Peter shushed him. He had heard something.

Whispers.

“Parker, this place-” Harley tried, but Peter shushed him.

There was a muttering, coming from the chasm.

Ned and Harley finally heard it.

“Tartarus,” Harley whispered. “The entrance to Tartarus.”

Peter uncapped his sword. The voice faltered for a moment at the glow, but resumed soon enough.

Peter strained his ears, trying to understand what was being said. It was ancient, older than the Greeks.

“Magic.”

“We’ve gotta go,” Harley said.

They started back up the slope. Peter readjusted his backpack in annoyance, its weight was slowing him down. The voice grew louder, angrier, and they broke out into a run not a moment too soon.

A cold blast of air against their backs, like the tunnel itself was inhaling. They would have been pulled in had they been closer to the edge. Struggling, they finally made it out of the tunnel and a wail of rage echoed behind them.

“What was that?” Ned breathed.

Harley and Peter shared a look, the blond had the same look as he had when he was rolling over an idea. It terrified Peter.

Peter capped the sword, “We should keep going. Can you walk?”

Ned gulped, trying to sound brave when he said he hadn’t liked those shoes.

They were all trembling. That pit contained something much more dangerous than anything they had ever encountered.

Peter was almost relieved when they turned away and began to walk towards Hades’ palace. 

The Furies circled overhead, dreadful engravings decorated the walls. They walked through the strangest garden, full of odd plants, mushrooms, and the statues that they had purchased from Medusa were placed throughout.

A pomegranate tree was the centerpiece.

“Keep walking,” Harley told him. “This is the garden of Persephone.”

Good idea, Peter thought. Those pomegranates were drawing him in. They looked so good, but he remembered Persephone’s fate of staying in the Underworld and he lost his appetite. Peter pulled Ned away from eating one.

They walked up the palace steps, skeletal guards from all eras of history lining the sides.

Peter’s backpack was hurting his shoulders and he wanted to check inside, but it really wasn’t the time to do that.

“Well,” Peter said, looking at the vast doors. “Should we knock?”

The doors blew open and the guards stepped aside.

“I guess that means we can head in,” Harley said after they had looked at the doors for a shocked moment.

Peter recognized the room from his dream, only this time, the throne actually had a god in it.

Hades was the most godlike god Peter had met at this point, having met two others. His entire presence emitted power. 

Peter wanted to obey him, he was obviously much more powerful and deserving to be in charge than Peter would ever be. He told himself to snap out of that train of thought.

“Very brave of you to come here, son of Poseidon,” Hades said. “After what you have done to me, it is incredibly brave. Or maybe just very foolish.”

All Peter wanted to do was succumb to the numbness in his bones. Just lay down at Hades’ feet, curl up into a ball, and sleep for an entirety. He fought the feeling and approached.

“Lord and Uncles Hades, I humbly ask for two requests.”

The god raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his throne. His attire displayed the souls of the damned. 

“You must be arrogant, child. Two requests, after what you have taken from me?” Hades said coldly. “Speak.”

Peter did not have a good track record when talking to gods. This wasn’t going well.

The throne beside Hades, shaped like a flower and lined with gold, was empty. Persephone was up with her mother, Demeter, for the summer. There was no one to help him now.

Harley’s fingers prodded Peter’s back.

“Lord Hades, sir, there can’t be a war among the gods,” Peter said. “It wouldn’t be good.”

“Really really bad, actually,” Ned piped up.

Peter didn’t think Ned would speak in the presence of Hades. He was proud of his best friend.

“Please return the master bolt to me,” Peter pleaded. “Let me carry it to Olympus.”

Hades’ eyes glowed, “You dare to keep up this charade, even after all you’ve done?”

Peter was confused, but glancing at his friends only revealed that they were confused too.

“What have I done?” Peter dared to ask.

A tremor shook the throne room and skeletal guards flooded the room. Los Angeles definitely felt that as an earthquake. 

“Do you believe I want a war, godling?” Hades’ voice boomed.

Peter swallowed down a quip. Now was not the time to be blasted to bits. 

“Would a war not expand your kingdom?” 

“No!” Hades bellowed. “I don’t need more subjects, the Underworld is sprawled enough!”

Peter tried to say more but Hades was on a roll.

“Do you have any clue how much my kingdom has been overrun this past century? How much I’ve had to subdivide?”

The god groaned about security ghouls, wait times, and overtime that the staff had to take.

“I used to be rich, Peter Parker!” he moaned. “I control every precious metal on earth, but my expenses are too much!”

“Charon wants a pay raise,” Peter blurted, suddenly remembering the promise he made.

Peter should not be in charge of negotiating. 

Hades ranted a bit about Charon before returning to the topic of war, saying that he had not asked for it.

“But, you took Zeus’s master bolt?”

There was something Peter was missing. It would complete the puzzle if he knew, but he had no idea what it could be.

“Lies!” Hades stood from his throne, making the room rumble. “I see through your father’s plan, boy.”

“My father’s plan?”

“You were the thief at the winter solstice, your father thought he could keep you as a secret. You took the master bolt and my helm, sneaking away with your father’s help before anyone could realize. I will expose you as Poseidon’s thief and get my helm back!”

“Wait,” Harley said, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “Lord Hades, did you say that someone stole your helm of darkness too?”

“Don’t play dumb! You and the satyr have been helping the thief come to threaten me,” Hades snarled. “Does Poseidon think that I can be blackmailed into supporting him?”

“No!” Peter declared, defending his father’s name.

“I didn’t mention the helm’s disappearance, as no one on Olympus would ever offer me help or justice. I began my own search but saw that you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I didn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t try to stop us?”

Peter’s mind was jumping all over the place. Nothing was making sense. 

“Return my helm now, or I will stop death. I will open the gates and allow the dead to flood the earth, your skeleton leading my army out of Hades. That is my counter-proposal.”

Peter should have felt terrified, but he felt offended. Angry. He hated being accused for stuff he hadn’t done. 

“You think I stole from you? Is that why you sent the Furies after me? You’re as bad as Zeus.”

“Of course,” Hades said, like that cleared everything up.

“The other monsters too?”

“Not me. I didn’t want you to have a quick death,” Hades said, his lip curling. “I wanted to bring you here alive to be tortured in the Fields of Punishment, that’s why I let you enter my kingdom so easily.”

“Easily?”

Was he kidding? They had barely made it to the palace alive.

“Return my helm!”

“I don’t have it!” Peter shouted back. “I came to get the master bolt, I don’t have your helm.”

“You already possess the master bolt! That’s what you brought with you to threaten me!”

“I didn’t!”

“Open your backpack then, Peter Parker.”

Peter’s spine ran cold. The added weight, that couldn’t be…

He took it off his back and unzipped it. 

Inside was what Peter assumed was the master bolt. The same clear and bronze cylinder Mr. Stark had described to him back at camp, crackling with electricity. 

“Peter,” Harley started. “How-”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand,” Peter breathed.

He had one of the most powerful weapons in the universe in his backpack.

“You heroes,” Hades growled. “Always the same. Your pride will be your downfall. You thought you would bring such a weapon to me? I did not ask for it, but you will give it to me. I’m sure it can be used as a bargaining tool against my dear brother. Now, where is my helm?”

Peter wanted to believe that Hades was behind all of this, but the god seemed too assured that Peter had his helm of darkness. Someone else had gone against the three eldest sons of Kronos. The master bolt was in Peter’s backpack. The backpack he had gotten from…

“Lord Hades, wait, this was a misunderstanding.”

Hades roared and the skeletons raised their weapons as the Furies landed on the back of Hades’ throne.

“There is no mistake. I know the real reason you brought the bolt,” Hades said. “To bargain for her.”

A gold fire exploded in front of Peter, revealing Aunt May, frozen in her moment of death as the Minotaur had squeezed her throat. Peter's throat closed. He reached out to her, but the heat was too intense. 

“I took her, Peter Parker. I knew you would come to bargain for her, bringing the helm to me as an exchange. She is not yet dead, but she easily could be. Return my helm.”

The pearls were in Peter’s pocket. He could get them all out of this.

Hades seemed to read his mind, “The pearls, my brother’s little tricks. Bring them forth.”

Peter’s hand reached into his pocket and brought them out against his will.

“Three? That’s a shame. Only one per person. One of you will have to stay with me for eternity if you do not hand over your backpack. Time to choose.”

“We were set up,” Peter said, turning to Harley and Ned.

They looked grim.

“Yeah, we were. But why?” Harley questioned. “The voice-”

“I don’t know, yet,” Peter interrupted. “But I’m going to ask.”

“Decide!” Hades yelled.

“Peter, you can’t give him the bolt.”

“I know, Ned.”

“Leave me, take your aunt with the third pearl,” Ned put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Like hell.

“No!”

“Peter, I’m a satyr. Our souls are different, he can have me until I die, and then I’ll be reincarnated as a flower. It’s the best way.”

“No,” Harley said, drawing his knife. “Y’all go. Ned, protect Peter. Get your searcher’s license and find Pan. Get his aunt out of here. I’ll cover you. I plan to go down fighting.”

“No, absolutely not,” Ned said. “I’m staying.”

“Think again, goat boy,” Harley replied.

“Stop!” Peter said. His two closest friends, fighting for him after they had saved him over and over and over. He wouldn’t let them sacrifice themselves for him.

“I know what to do,” Peter said, handing them each a pearl.

“But, darlin’...”

Peter ignored the way his heart jumped at the pet name and turned to face his aunt.

Aunt May would never allow him to sacrifice himself for her. He had to stop the war, get the bolt back to Olympus, and reveal the truth. The prophecy was coming true: he would fail to save what matters most in the end.

“I’m sorry,” he told Aunt May. “I’ll come back for you.”

Hades didn’t look so smug anymore.

“I’ll find and return your helm to you, Uncle,” Peter told the god. “Don’t forget about Charon’s pay raise.”

“Do not-”

“Play with Cerberus once in a while, would you? He liked red rubber balls.”

“Peter Parker, you will not-”

“Now!” Peter shouted.

They all smashed the pearl’s with their feet and nothing happened.

“Destroy them!” Hades yelled and the army of skeletons and Furies lunged towards them.

The pearls exploded in a green light, encasing Peter in a milky white sphere that began to float off the ground.

Harley and Ned followed. Hades roared in rage, shaking the entire fortress. 

Los Angeles wasn’t having a peaceful night.

Ned yelled, pointing to the ceiling.

They were going to be skewered on stalactites.

“How do we control them?” Harley yelled.

“I don’t think we can!”

They all screamed as their bubbled reached the ceiling, but instead of popping, there was just darkness.

Peter briefly considered that he was dead, but he could still feel the movement from the bubble bringing them to the surface.

What belongs to the sea will always return.

They burst through the ocean floor, racing up to the surface, exploding above the waves.

They were in the middle of the Santa Monica Bay.

A surfer flew off his board at their arrival and paddled away after a scream.

Peter pulled Ned to a buoy, grabbing Harley and bringing him there too. He told a great white shark that was eyeing them to beat it, and it actually did.

Peter, somehow, knew the exact time. Early morning on June 21, the day or the summer solstice.

LA was on fire in the distance. Hades’ earthquakes had done a lot of damage.

Peter knew that the god of the dead was probably sending an army after him, but that wasn’t his top priority right now.

What even was his life?

Oh, an army of the dead is being sent after him. That’s not his top priority somehow.

Peter had to get to the shore, get the master bolt back to Zeus. He also had to have a talk with the god who had tricked him.

* * *

Thankfully, the coast guards that picked them up out of the water were too overwhelmed and focused on the disaster around them to notice that they were all fully clothed in the middle of the bay. Peter had willed himself to get wet before they were picked up, giving his shoes to Ned so no one would question why one of them had hooves.

Peter felt heavy. His backpack weighed him down with the weight of the master bolt and his heart pulled him down with the guilt of leaving his Aunt May in the Underworld.

They stumbled onto dry land, watching the city’s fires burn against the sunrise.

“I can’t believe it,” Harley said. “All that way-”

“For it to be a trick,” Peter interjected. “A strategy worthy of Athena.”

“Hey,” the blond warned.

“But you get it, don’t you?”

Harley dropped his gaze, his anger evaporating. “Yeah.”

“I don’t!” Ned complained.

“Peter,” Harley was suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about your aunt.”

Peter ignored him. If he thought too much about it, he was going to cry. They couldn’t afford him crying right now.

“The prophecy was right. Go west, face the god who turned. But it wasn’t Hades, he didn’t want a war. So, someone else pulled off the theft, stealing the master bolt and the helm, framing me because I’m Poseidon’s son. Poseidon would get blamed by everyone. Sundown tonight, there will be a three-way war that I would have caused.”

“But who?” Ned questioned, completely mystified to who would want such a war.

Peter stopped, looking down the beach. “I know who.”

Ares stood, sunglasses and jacket and a baseball bat, next to his motorcycle.

“You were supposed to die,” the god of war said, genuinely pleased to see Peter.

“You stole the helm and master bolt and tricked me.”

“I didn’t steal them personally, gods can’t take each other’s symbols of powers. I used a hero,” Ares grinned.

“Who? Flash?”

“Doesn’t matter, kid,” Ares replied, amused. “You’re messing up my war effort. You were supposed to die in the Underworld, causing your dad to get upset with Hades, old corpse breath would have the bolt so Zeus would be pissed. Hades would still be looking for this…”

Ares pulled the helm of darkness from his pocket.

“The helm of darkness,” Ned gasped. 

What had started as a burglar mask had transformed into a helmet.

“Yep. We’d have a nice little three-way fistfight going.”

“They’re your family!” Harley protested.

Ares gave a shrug. “Best kind. There’s always a bit more blood.”

“The master bolt has been in the backpack since you gave it to me in Denver, hasn’t it?” Peter questioned.

“Kinda? It was there, but not. Just like your pen sword. Once you were in the Underworld, it’d pop in there, but if you died before you reached there, I would still have it. No one loses.”

“Why didn’t you keep the bolt for yourself instead of sending it to Hades?”

Ares faced twitched, looking as if he was listening to another voice in his head. “Why didn’t I, with that kind of firepower…”

Peter looked to Harley nervously.

Ares snapped from the trance. “It was better for you to be caught red-handed. I didn’t need the trouble.”

“Lie,” Peter accused. “This wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“It was!” Ares’ eyes smoked from behind his sunglasses.

“It wasn’t your theft. Someone else sent a hero to snag the symbols and you were ordered to catch them. You did, but then something convinced you to let them go, keeping the items until someone else could deliver them where they needed to be. The thing in the pit is ordering you around.”

“I am the god of war, I don’t take orders! I don’t have dreams!”

Peter never mentioned dreams.

“Who said anything about dreams?”

“Let’s get back to the problem,” Ares diverted, covering up his agitation with a cocky attitude. “I’ve got to kill you. You have the bolt, which can’t get to Olympus.”

He summoned a boar and it emerged from the sand. Angry and ready to kill Peter.

“Fight me yourself,” Peter said, stepping into the water.

Ares laughed, but Peter heard a twinge of uneasiness in it. “One talent, that’s all you’ve got. Running away from every monster you encounter.”

“Scared, are we?”

“In your adolescent dreams.”

Why did Ares continue to bring up dreams?

“No direct involvement kid, you’re not at my level.”

But the sunglasses were melting from the heat of his eyes.

Harley yelled for Peter to run, but Peter was done running. 

The giant boar charged directly towards him.

He uncapped his sword, sidestepping and slashing upwards. The severed tusk fell and the boar turned into the sea.

Peter called for a wave, and one grabbed the boar and pulled it under.

Now that the boar was taken care of, Peter turned to the god. “Going to continue to hide behind your pets or are you going to fight me?”

“Watch it,” Ares snarled, his face purple in rage. “I could turn you into-”

“Mhm, a bug for you to squash I’m sure. That’d save you, wouldn’t it?”

All he was doing was agitating Ares into fighting him. Too much emotion in a fight would put it in Peter’s favor.  _ Why was he voluntarily fighting a god? _

“If I lose,” Peter said. “You get the bolt. If I win, I get the helm and bolt and you have to go away.”

Ares was caught on his line.

“Classic or modern?” the god snarled, swinging the baseball bat off his shoulder.

Peter raised his sword and Ares grinned, shifting the bat into a massive two handed sword.

“Parker, don’t,” Harley warned. “He’s a god.”

“He’s a coward.”

Harley took off his camp necklace, “Wear this. For luck.”

He tied it around Peter’s neck, “Athena and Poseidon together.”

Peter’s face was hot when he thanked the blond.

“Take this,” Ned said, handing him a flattened tin can that the satyr had probably had for thousands of miles. “Satyrs stand behind you.”

Peter had difficulty swallowing. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shoved the tin can in his back pocket and turned to the god.

“Done saying your goodbyes?” Ares approached, but Peter just stepped further into the sea.

The god was monologuing about his centuries of strength, but Peter turned him out to remember what Harley had told him. All Ares had was strength, and even strength had to bow to wisdom. 

Peter had a smaller ego than Ares, but also, he had the wisdom to beat a god that only relied on his strength. 

Ares swung the sword towards his head, but Peter wasn’t there to get hit. He allowed his body to take the reins, letting the water catapult him over Ares and slice down his back. The god spun around, deflecting the hit before it could land. 

Ares was grinning. “Not bad.”

The next slash forced Peter onto the land. He tried to get back to the water, but Ares seemed to realize what he was trying to do, maneuvering Peter further and further from the surf. 

Peter couldn’t find an opening to slash. 

His blade was significantly shorter than Ares’ massive broadsword.

Beck had told him to get close if he had the shorter blade.

Peter stepped forward, but Ares expected it, disarming him and kicking Peter over twenty feet into the air. Without landing in a soft sand dune, Peter would have broken his back.

Harley yelled something about cops, but Peter’s chest was throbbing, his eyesight doubled.

He got up anyway. He always got back up.

Peter could see the red lights of the cop cars out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t look away from Ares.

Rolling away from another slash from the god, he ran towards his sword and grabbed it. The swipe he tried to hit Ares’ face with was deflected.

Ares knew what he was going to do a moment before he did it. But, Peter finally stepped back into the surf again and Ares followed. 

Ares tried to get him to admit defeat, but Peter wouldn’t have it.

His senses were dialed up to eleven, noticing every single little detail. Harley had said that his ADHD is what kept him alive in battles. 

Peter noticed everywhere that Ares was tensing, he noticed Harley and Ned standing to the side, the cop cars in the distance, more pulling up. Spectators watching what was happening on the beach after being forced from their homes due to the earthquake. Not every spectator was normal either. Some were satyrs. Some were spirits of the dead, risen to watch. He heard the beat of wings overhead.

Peter stepped further into the water.

Ares sliced his arm.

The cops yelled at them to drop their guns.

The Mist. 

Ares turned to the cops, bellowing about this being a private matter. He swept his hand and flame engulfed the patrol cars, the cops barely getting away from them before they exploded. Spectators screamed and scattered. 

Ares slashed again, but Peter deflected the blade, stepping closer to strike. His own blow was knocked away. The waves were hitting his back, Ares was in the water up to his thighs, wading after him.

Peter could feel the sea, its pulse ran parallel with his own. The tide was rolling in, the waves becoming larger, giving him an idea. 

He thought ‘little waves’ and the ocean obeyed, the water receding from his own force of will. Tension building. 

Ares approached, his grin confident and his stride sure. Peter lowered his sword, as if his exhaustion was stopping him from continuing. He told the sea to wait, despite the pressure almost lifting him off of his feet. 

Ares raised his sword and Peter released the tide, jumping over Ares with a wave.

The god got a six feet wall of water to the face, disorienting him briefly. Peter landed behind the god, feinting a slash towards his head and Ares turned to block it. Peter changed direction, lunging to the side, and slamming his sword straight through the god’s heel. Ares had been too distracted to notice the trick until it was too late.

Ares roared, making Hades’ earthquakes seem like aftershocks. The ocean was blasting away from him in a fifty foot diameter.

Ichor flowed from the gash. Ares’ look was beyond hatred. He was in pain. In shock. In disbelief that he had been wounded.

Limping, he approached Peter again, but something stopped him.

Darkness fell over them, the temperature dropping to freezing. A cold and heavy presence drifted across the beach, slowing time as it went. Feelings of hopelessness washed over Peter, but then the darkness lifted.

The god of war looked absolutely stunned.

Spectators long gone, only the burning police cars remained behind them. Harley and Ned watched in shock. The water flooded back around Ares’ feet and the god lowered his sword.

“You have made an enemy, today. You sealed your fate. Every single time you lift your blade in battle, you will feel my curse, Peter Parker.”

Ares began to glow.

“Look away, Peter!” Harley yelled and Peter turned away just as Ares revealed his true form.

The light dissipated abruptly and Peter looked back. Ares was gone, in his place lay the helm of darkness.

Peter picked it up, making his way to his friends, but was stopped by the Furies landing in front of him before he could.

Mrs. Dodds approached, looking somewhat disappointed.

“We saw the whole thing. It wasn’t you?” she hissed.

Peter tossed her the helm and ignored her surprised look.

“Return the helm to Lord Hades. Tell him the truth,” Peter told them. “Tell him to call off the war.”

Mrs. Dodds seemed to hesitate, licking her lips with her forked tongue. “Live well, Peter Parker, become a true hero. If you do not, if you ever come into my talons again…”

She flew off with a cackle.

Peter joined his companions, who were staring at him in awe.

“That was incredible,” Ned said.

“Terrifying,” Harley corrected. 

“Cool!”

Peter didn’t feel terrified or cool, he was tired and drained of all energy.

“Did you guys feel…”

Peter couldn’t even describe it, but they nodded.

Ned suggested that it was the Furies, but Peter wasn’t too sure about that. Something that was way stronger than the Furies had stopped Ares.

Peter shared a look with Harley and understanding passed through their gaze. Peter knew what was in the pit. 

He grabbed his backpack, checking that the master bolt was still inside. 

“New York,” Peter said, his mind scrambled. “We have to get back there by tonight.”

“Impossible, unless-” Harley started before Peter took over.

“Unless we fly, I know.”

Harley’s eyes pierced him. “Fly in an airplane, which you were warned to never do because Zeus will strike you out of the sky. And you want to do this with a weapon that is more destructive than a nuclear bomb?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

* * *

Mr. Stark had explained the Mist to Peter, but seeing it in action was shocking.

The story running was that Peter and his two friends had been kidnapped in New York by a leather wearing madman and taken across the country over ten days. Every instance where people assumed Peter was responsible, such as the bus exploding and the Arch being blown up, was placed onto the kidnapper’s shoulders. Surely, a kid like Peter couldn’t be responsible for such actions! On the beach, the kidnappers shotgun had shot wide, hitting a gas main that had been exposed from the earthquake and blowing up the patrol cars. The brave Peter Parker stole a gun from their captor and it ended in a shootout on the beach and the police had arrived just in time. The explosion on the cars provided the cover for the captor to flee and Peter and his friends are safe in police custody.

All they had to do was act like victimized kids for the cameras, and suddenly, the entire country believed them.

Peter fed them a sob story about how worried Gabe probably was for him and how the man would give everyone in LA an appliance from his store and that all he wanted to do was get back home. 

A hat was passed around, filled with money for the next three plane tickets to New York.

Peter forced himself to get on the plane. It was the only way, he reminded himself, hoping that Zeus wouldn’t zap him out of the sky.

He didn’t loosen his grip on the armrests the most of the ride, the only exception being when they had hit some turbulence and Harley grabbed his hand where it clutched the rest. Peter had let go for a moment, given it a tight, comforting squeeze, and resumed his death drip on the plastic between them. 

Back in New York, the local press was ready to hear the story again. Harley pulled his cowboy hat on and yelled that they were by a store, leading the press away.

Peter made Harley and Ned go back to Camp Half Blood to tell Mr. Stark what had happened. He didn’t know what was going to happen in Olympus, but all he knew was that he wanted his friends to survive. They protested, of course, because it was incredibly hard to separate after ten days of hell together, but he finally got them into a cab towards camp.

Harley had gripped Peter’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze, looked into his eyes, and wished him good luck.

It took Peter a few moments to recover from that.

Peter hopped into his own cab and went to Manhattan, heading to the Empire State Building. 

He knew he looked terrible. Face scratched, clothing dirty, hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours, but he waltzed right up the front desk anyway.

“Six hundredth floor.”

The guard didn’t look up from his book for a while. “Not a floor, kiddo.”

“I need an audience with Zeus.”

“Hm?” the guard gave a vacant smile.

Peter didn’t want to repeat himself. “You heard.”

Peter was just about to give up on this mortal, but then he said: “Lord Zeus doesn’t see anyone unannounced, sorry.”

“He’ll make an exception,” Peter opened his bag to show the guard.

He still didn’t know how he had managed to get the master bolt through airport security, but he didn’t think too long on it.

The guard’s face drained to a terrified white. “That’s-”

“It is!” Peter smiled, probably looking a tad bit insane. But he was tired and all he wanted was to get this resolved. “Want me to take it out-”

“No!” the guard interrupted, fumbling for a key card and handing it to Peter.

“Put this in the security slot. Make sure no one is in the elevator with you.”

Easy enough.

Peter slipped the card into the slot the moment the elevator doors shut and a new button appeared. 

600.

He clicked it.

This elevator was way nicer than the DOA one. For one, it didn’t go forwards. It was also way better than the Gateway Arch’s elevator, which had gone up on a curve.

It just took way longer. 

The music wasn’t too great either.

Peter stepped out and felt his heart drop to his toes. He was standing above Manhattan. There were marble stairs leading up.

He had to look twice, but the second time, he saw that the stairs led to a mountain top covered in what seemed to be an Ancient Greek city. New, clean, vast, and colorful.

Peter couldn’t believe that this is what was above New York City. 

He walked through it in a daze. 

The market folks offered him a variety of things, the nymphs giggled, others just watched him past. There was no threat of war up here, only festivities. 

He made his way to the large palace, the reverse of Hades. No black and bronze, just white and silver. Hades had created his own Olympus underground once he had been banished.

Peter arrived in the throne room.

It wasn’t really a room.

There were twelve thrones, massive, arranged in an inverted U shape. Just like the cabins at camp. A huge fire was in the center. 

All of the thrones, except two, were empty. They were at the end. Peter knew who they were. He approached on trembling legs.

They were the same size as Hades and Peter’s body felt like it was beginning to burn when he looked at them. Zeus was in a dark blue pinstripe suit, sitting upon a simple solid platinum throne. His beard was well trimmed and looked like a storm cloud. A proud face with rainy gray eyes.

It smelled like ozone.

Next to him sat Poseidon.

Leather sandals, Bermuda shorts, a patterned Tommy Bahama shirt. Deeply tanned skin and scarred hands, he had the same hair and eyes as Peter. The current expression was the same one that had gotten Peter branded as a rebel, but he had crinkles around his eyes that showed his affinity for smiling. 

While Zeus’s throne was solid and simple, Poseidon sat in a simple swivel fisherman’s chair. Instead of a pole resting in the slot, a trident crackled with a green light.

No one spoke, but there was tension as if an argument had just concluded unsuccessfully. 

Peter approached his father first, kneeling at his feet and not looking up. There was so much energy in the room, Peter felt like one wrong move would lead to his death. “Father.”

Zeus spoke up. “Should you not address the master of this house first, boy?”

Peter didn’t raise his head. He waited. 

It took a moment but Posideon finally spoke.

“Peace, brother. The boy defers to his father. This is only right.”

His voice threw Peter back into his childhood, when Poseidon must’ve visited his crib. The warmth was the same. 

“You claim the child you sired against the oath, then?” Zeus asked. 

His tone was menacing. 

“I have admitted my wrongdoing, now I would like to hear him speak.”

Peter swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. All Peter was is the product of a mistake.

Zeus grumbled about sparing Peter and not blasting him out of the sky, but Posideon calmed him down.

“Let’s hear him out, brother.”

His father was good at keeping the situation from escalating, Peter noted. Something Peter decisively was not good at. 

“I’ll listen,” Zeus declared like it was his own idea and not one that Poseidon had just suggested. “Then, I will decide if the boy will be cast off of Olympus.”

Peter was incredibly glad he made Harley and Ned go back to camp.

“Peter, look at me.”

Peter looked up at his father. There was no emotion on his face. Mysterious, like the ocean. He probably didn’t know what to think of Peter and being distant was the best option for him. Peter was glad. He doesn’t think he would believe any emotion or reassure the god tried to give him. 

Poseidon told him to tell the entire story to Zeus, so Peter did. At the end, he took the master bolt out of his backpack and set it at Zeus’s feet.

Silence. 

Zeus opened his palm and the bolt flew into it, transforming into something that actually looked like a lightning bolt. Its energy made Peter’s hair rise.

“He is telling the truth,” Zeus muttered. “But, Ares. It is unlikely that he would do such a thing.”

“Ares is impulsive, proud. It runs in the family,” Poseidon subtly jabbed at Zeus.

Peter distracted them before another argument could break out. 

Once he had their attention with a polite “Lord?” Peter told him his theory.

“Someone or something else came up with the idea, Ares did not act alone.”

Peter described all of the dreams he had relating to the Underworld and told them of what had happened on the beach, the feeling he had gotten. 

Peter told them of how the voice had told him to bring the bolt to the Underworld, and how Ares had mentioned having dreams too. 

“I think Ares was being used to start a war.”

Zeus asked him if he was accusing Hades and Peter quickly denied it.

He didn’t need Hades pissed at him. Again.

“The feeling on the beach was different than the feeling I had when near Hades. It was older, more powerful. Ancient. There’s something in Tartarus that is stirring.”

The gods had a quick discussion in Ancient Greek. It was intense and Zeus ended up cutting off Poseidon’s suggestion with a hand, saying that they were to stop the discussion.

The king of the gods stood to go clean his master bolt off, and his expression softened a tiny bit. “You have done me a service, few heroes have accomplished as much.”

“Harley Keener and Ned Leeds helped me, sir. I didn’t do it alone.”

“To show my thanks, your life will be spared. I do not trust you, but I will keep the peace of this family by allowing you to live.”

He had completely ignored what Peter had said.

“Thank you, sir,” Peter said hesitantly.

“Don’t ever fly again and don’t be here when I return, or the last thing you will taste is my lightning bolt.”

He flashed away with a boom of thunder.

Posideon sighed about his brother being dramatic, leading to an uncomfortable silence.

Peter asked what was in the pit, although he already had a good guess.

“Have you not guessed?” Poseidon asked him.

“Kronos, king of the Titans.”

The room darkened. Even the further they could be from Tartarus, his name brought coldness.

Poseidon explained what had happened in the First War, how Kronos was cast into Tartarus and how Titans could never actually die. 

“He’s coming back, then. He’s healing.”

Poseidon disregarded that, saying that Kronos stirs occasionally, but he wouldn’t rise from the pit. 

Peter was tired of people ignoring what he says.

“He intends to rise. That’s what he said, father.”

Poseidon remained silent for a while, before reiterating that Lord Zeus had ended the discussion and that Peter wasn’t to speak of it. Peter had completed his quest, that was all that mattered.

Peter almost tried to argue, but stopped himself. There was no need for him to anger another god, despite how good he was at it. “As you wish, father.”

His father gave a small smile. “Obedience isn’t natural for you, is it?”

“No, sir.”

“Ah, that is partially my fault. The sea doesn’t like to be restrained.”

Poseidon stood and shrunk to the size of a regular human. 

“It’s time to go, but I should tell you that your Aunt has returned to your apartment. Even Hades repays his debts.”

Peter almost asked him to come home with him, but realized it would be dumb. Why would a god go to their tiny Queens apartment?

“An important choice will have to be made when you return home, Peter. There will be a package in your room.”

Poseidon explained that he would know what to do when he saw the package, reiterating that Peter must choose his path.

Despite his confusion, Peter nodded. 

Poseidon apologized for Peter being born and it almost hurt worse than Ares kicking him in the chest. 

His father tried to rectify it by saying that he had doomed Peter to a hero’s fate, but Peter didn’t need to hear more.

He bowed awkwardly, saying that he would leave.

A few steps later, Posideon called out his name.

Peter turned, and his father looked proud. 

“You did well, Peter. Do not misunderstand me. Whatever else you do, know that you are mind. You are a true son of the Sea God.”


	6. aunt may's brief artistic career

Peter walked through the city in a daze. The music stopped when he approached and everyone he passed looked to him with respect and they knelt. Their faces displayed gratitude.

Less than a half hour later, he emerged on the streets of Manhattan and hopped into a taxi to their apartment. 

Aunt May hugged him tightly, crying and saying how glad she was that he was safe. Peter was shaking in her arms. 

Apparently, she had appeared in the apartment that morning and was shocked to discover that Peter was a fugitive. Gabe had forced her to go to work to make up the money they had lost while she was gone. She wasn’t able to see the news and she didn’t remember anything since the Minotaur. 

Peter told her his own story after dispelling his anger. He didn’t even finish before Gabe called for her to make dinner. 

She told him that Gabe wasn’t going to be happy to see him. The man had gotten a ton of phone calls from Los Angeles about free appliances. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and Aunt May gave him a weak smile, asking him not to anger him further.

The apartment had been trashed in the month the both of them had been gone. (Had it really been a month?) But Gabe was still playing poker like usual.

Gabe’s face flushed red and the cigar fell out of his mouth. “You’ve got nerve coming here you little punk. I thought the police-”

Aunt May interrupted to tell him that Peter wasn’t a fugitive, but Gabe wasn’t happy about that either, complaining that he had to give back her life insurance.

He tried to call the cops.

“No!” Aunt May said.

Gabe’s greasy eyebrows raised. “Did you say ‘no’? I’m not putting up with him again, I can still press charges against what he did to my Camaro.”

“But-”

Gabe raised his hand and Aunt May flinched.

Peter saw red.

This man had hit his Aunt before. Probably for years and probably only when Peter hadn’t been around.

Peter was walking towards him, pulling the pen out of his pocket before he even realized he had moved. 

Gabe had laughed and made a joke about Peter writing on him.

One of his poker friends told him that Peter was just a kid and Gabe mocked the man, the other friends laughing. 

Gabe informed him that he would be nice to Peter for five minutes while he cleaned the stuff from his room, then he was going to call the cops.

He ignored Aunt May when she tried to plead with him and Peter just wanted to uncap Riptide and run Gabe through with the sword.

The sword didn’t harm humans though.

Aunt May dragged him to his room while Peter focused on making his hands stop trembling in rage.

Gabe had trashed his room too.

“He’s just upset,” Aunt May tried to explain. “I’ll talk to him later, try to work it out.”

“It won’t work out as long as he’s still here.”

She nervously fidgetted, saying that Peter would just come to work with her for the rest of the summer and then another boarding school in the fall. He and Gabe wouldn’t have to interact. 

“Aunt May.”

“I’m trying, Peter. It’ll take time.”

Then, a package appeared on Peter’s bunk bed. 

Battered cardboard and his own handwriting.

**THE GODS**

**MOUNT OLYMPUS**

**600TH FLOOR, EMPIRE STATE BUILDING**

**NEW YORK, NY**

**With best wishes,**

**PETER PARKER**

A return to sender label had been placed on top, their address and RETURN TO SENDER clearly printed.

Medusa’s head.

A decision.

He understood what Poseidon meant now.

“Do you want Gabe gone?” Peter looked at Aunt May.

“Peter, honey, it’s not that simple-”

“Tell me, Aunt May. He’s been hitting you. Do you want him gone?”

A moment of hesitation passed and she nodded minutely. 

She told him that he shouldn’t have to solve her problems.

Peter looked at the box. It would be so easy to solve this problem, just slice the box open and install a statue right in the center of their living room.

Peter should. It was what a true hero would do. But then he remembered the Underworld, the Field of Asphodel or the Fields of Punishment. What gave Peter the right to send Gabe, as horrible as he was, somewhere like that?

Peter probably would have hesitated a month ago, but all he wanted to do was put Gabe down there. 

He told Aunt May that he could do it. She glanced at the box and understood.

“No, you can’t, Peter.”

“You deserve someone better. Let me get rid of him. You could go to college, live somewhere nicer, you don’t need to protect me anymore.”

She wiped a tear off her cheek.

“I can’t let someone else take care of my problems, Peter. I really appreciate it, but this isn’t something my nephew should have to do. It’s my responsibility. Something I need to find the courage to do.”

Peter listened to ESPN from the other room, Gabe’s swearing barely audible over it. 

“I’ll leave the box here. If he threatens you…”

She nodded, her face pale, and asked where he was going to go.

He told her he would return to camp.

“Just for the summer, or forever?”

Peter told her that it depends.

One look and they agreed they would see what the end of the summer brought.

Aunt May kissed his forehead. “I larb you, Peter. You’ll be the greatest hero of them all.”

Peter glanced around his bedroom one last time and walked with May to the front door. 

Gabe called out a good riddance.

Peter could easily just take him down, alleviate the problem. He didn’t have to leave Aunt May to do it.

When Gabe called about dinner again, Aunt May’s eyes lit up with a flame, and Peter decided that she could handle herself.

“The meatloaf is coming right up, dear. Meatloaf surprise.”

Aunt May shot Peter a wink.

The door shut, but Peter’s last look inside had been Aunt May looking at Gabe like she was deciding the best way he’d look as a garden statue.

* * *

They were treated with a large celebration upon their arrival back to camp. Apparently, being the first half-bloods to return from a quest since Beck brought enough joy that they celebrated long into the night.

Peter also learned that they made burial shrouds for those on the quest. In case they don’t return.

Harley’s cabin mates had made him a beautiful grey shroud with an owl on it. Peter told the blond it was a shame that they couldn’t bury him in it and got a punch to the arm in return.

Peter didn’t have anyone to make his shroud, so the Ares cabin crudely painted a bedsheet. 

Peter was happy watching it burn.

Peter was surrounded by his friends and the loud singing led by the Apollo cabin. Ned had gotten his searcher’s license. Everyone seemed to be in a joyous mood, except the Ares cabin. Apparently, Peter fighting Ares rubbed them the wrong way. 

Mr. D’s bad speech didn’t even dampen his good mood. 

When Peter moved back into cabin three, he had the knowledge that he wasn’t as alone anymore. He had Harley, Ned, his old Hermes’ cabin mates, and his father. Peter listened to the sea to fall asleep and thought about Poseidon. The god was proud of him, even if they didn’t stand with a good relationship yet.

Aunt May sent a letter after Peter had been back at camp for a week. Apparently, Gabe had disappeared! She had filed a missing person report. On the bright side, she finished her first sculpture and sold it to an art gallery. It was the only sculpture she planned to do, as now she had enough money to go back to school and put a deposit down on a new apartment, so she had disposed of the materials she used to make it. 

In a postscript, she told Peter that she had also put a deposit down on a nice private school. Just in case Peter decided to not stay year round. It was fine if he did, she had told him.

Peter didn’t know how to answer, so he put it off.

For the Fourth of July, the Hephaestus cabin would make amazing fireworks that fired so closely together, they looked like an animation moving through the sky, at least, that’s what Harley told him. Peter and Harley had been spreading a picnic blanket when Ned approached to say goodbye. 

The satyr was leaving on his quest to find Pan. 

Ned was dressed like a highschooler, hiding his hooves and horns. He was really leaving, pursuing something that no satyr had returned from in two thousand years. 

Peter tried to feel happy for his best friend, but it was hard. He didn’t want to have to say goodbye. They had been through so much together.

Harley told him to keep his fake feet on and gave him a hug. 

Peter tried to ask where Ned was searching first, but the satyr said he couldn’t tell him. It was a secret. And humans and Pan didn’t get along very well.

“Don’t worry about it, Ned,” Harley assured. “Got enough tin cans?”

“Yeah.”

“Reed pipes?”

Ned scowled, but he didn’t look annoyed. 

They were all trying to be strong.

With hugs for both of them, Ned was off.

Peter and Harley sat down on their picnic blanket, looking up at the fireworks that just started flying into the sky. 

Their hands were almost touching, but they kept their eyes firmly on the sky.

“During the quest,” Harley started after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “I said that you couldn’t die because then the quest was over.”

Peter nodded. 

“And, things have changed since then,” Harley hesitated. “I’m really glad that you’re okay. I know I was uptight on the quest because it was my only chance to be out of camp, but I’m really glad you’re alive, darlin’.”

Peter swallowed a lump in his throat and gave Harley a small smile. “I’m really glad you’re okay too. I mean I knew you would be because the prophecy never mentioned anyone else getting hurt, but… yeah,” he awkwardly cut off his rambling. “I’m glad you’re alive too.”

Harley returned the smile and they turned back to the sky. 

If their hands had inched a bit closer, then no one really needed to know.

* * *

Peter spent the rest of his July working with Harley on strategies for capture the flag and defeating Ares. He also got to the top of the climbing wall without any lava burns for the first time.

Occasionally, he would walk past the Big House and his eyes would involuntarily drift towards the attic. His prophecy had been completed, his quest was over, Peter repeatedly told himself. 

He had gone west and faced the god who turned. Although, Ares was the god, not Hades, like they all originally thought.

Find what was stolen and see it returned safely.

Both Zeus and Hades had gotten their symbols of power back.

You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend. 

Peter’s mind always caught on that. Ares had pretended to be his friend before betraying him. That must be the last part. 

Fail to save what matters the most in the end.

Peter did fail to save Aunt May, but she had saved herself. So, all was well.

When the last night of the summer session arrived, Peter wasn’t ready at all.

One last meal with all the campers, they burned their offerings, then went to the campfire.

The senior counselors handed out the bead for the summer.

Peter got the leather necklace and looked at the bead. 

He was very glad it was dark- no one could see his face light up like a firetruck.

The bead was a black background with a shimmering green trident. 

“The choice was unanimous. This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God in camp history, and the quest that he took to the Underworld to stop a war!” Beck announced and the camp cheered.

All of them were on their feet, even the Ares cabin, and Harley got pushed to the center by his cabin to soak in the applause. 

Peter had found a family. His emotions were all over the place, he was happy, surrounded by people who cared for him, but sad. This new found family would be gone for the entire school year and Peter still didn’t know what to do.

* * *

There was a letter on his bedside table when Peter awoke the next morning. 

Mr. D had filled it out. His name was wrong.

Dear ____Percy Parkner____,

If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit.

Have a nice day!

Mr. D (Dionysus)

Camp Director, Olympian Council #12

Well, Peter had only a couple of hours to decide now. He still didn’t know if he would be returning to Aunt May for the school year or staying at camp to receive more training under Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark would want him to stay for the training. Aunt May would want him to come home, despite the danger.

Classroom or training.

Peter couldn’t decide.

He hated letting people down.

Peter could live with Aunt May without Gabe, exploring the city in his free time. But then he remembered what Harley had told him, at the beginning of this wild summer. 

_ The real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not. _

He thought about MJ’s fate, turned into a pine tree by her father to be saved from monsters. Monsters that would surely make Peter’s life hell if he went home. Would he even survive until the next summer?

The training arena seemed like a good place to clear his head.

Camp seemed deserted already, even though Peter knew that the campers were in their cabins packing up their stuff, cleaning up, and getting ready to go on the shuttle that Argus was driving to the airport. 

Beck was in the arena. 

He was fighting brutally, a serious expression on his face. The dummies were reduced to piles of hay in front of Peter’s eyes.

Beck was an amazing fighter, incredible even. Peter had no idea how he had failed his quest.

When he saw Peter, he stopped. “Peter.”

Peter was suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I just-”

Beck waved him off, explaining he was just getting some last minute practice.

Peter’s mind prodded at him: Didn’t Beck stay year long? Why was this practice ‘last minute’?

Instead, he just made a quip. “Those dummies won’t bother anyone anymore.”

Beck explained that they make new ones each summer with a shrug.

His sword was different than the one Peter had seen him use before. It was two different metals. Peter was evaluating it when Beck noticed and raised it for him to see.

“You like it? It’s new. Backbiter.”

Peter repeated the name aloud.

“It can kill mortals and immortals, it had celestial bronze on one side,” Beck flipped the sword to show the other side, “and tempered steel on the other.”

“That’s a thing?” Peter asked, genuinely interested in the counselor’s new weapon.

“Not really. It’s unique.” He smirked at the weapon and put it away, turning back to Peter, “You wanna go find something to fight in the woods? One more time?”

“I’m not sure if that’s-”

Beck cut him off, “Drinks are on me,” He pulled a six pack of coke out of his bag. Peter’s one weakness. 

After being at camp, where all their foods were healthy and the goblets didn’t taste like soda directly from the can, Peter was weak to the idea of drinking a can of coca cola.

Peter sighed, “Sure, why not.”

There were no monsters in the woods, probably due to the heat, so they sat on a large rock near the creek Peter had fought Flash during his first capture the flag game. It was nice, relaxing even, being in the shade and drinking Coke.

“Do you miss being on your quest?”

Peter raised an eyebrow at the abrupt question. “We were attacked by monsters like every three feet.”

Beck gave him a look.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I do. You?”

Beck’s face darkened. 

He didn’t look as attractive as all the girls at camp tended to say he did. He looked weary. Tired. Old. His scar was grotesque in the sunlight.

“All I’ve done since arriving at Camp Half Blood was train. Train constantly, after what happened to MJ. No normal teenager things, got thrown onto a quest. Failed, came back, and never got a chance to do anything else.”

Squeezing the empty can in his hand, he threw it into the creek. The first thing you learned when you arrived in camp was to never litter. It was different when nature could actually fight backー naiads and nymphs weren’t afraid to get you back. But, here Beck was. Littering. 

“I don’t want to end up as a dusty trophy in the attic of the Big House.”

“Are you leaving?” Peter had to ask. It sounded like Beck was leaving.

The elder’s smile made Peter uneasy. “Yeah, I’m leaving Peter. I brought you here to say goodbye.”

Peter didn’t think the goodbye was going to be a friendly one, and he was proven correct when Beck snapped his fingers. A small hole burned open by Peter’s feet and out crawled a scorpion. 

Peter reached for Riptide.

“Don’t,” Beck said. “That’s a pit scorpion. They can jump fifteen feet and their stinger will rip through your clothes. Dead in less than a minute.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but then realization dawned.

The line in the prophecy: You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.

Beck. 

“You,” Peter said, anger filling his veins.

The anger only intensified when Beck casually stood up, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

Beady black eyes continued to stay at him from the ground.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” Beck sighed and Peter had never hated hearing his name more. 

“On your quest,” he continued, “On your quest, did you not realize the darkness growing? The monsters gathering? All we are is pawns to the gods. It’s time for them to go.”

Peter stared disbelievingly at Beck. “They’re our parents!”

“So?” Beck laughed. “Doesn’t mean I love them. Why should I? All they’ve done with their previous Western civilization is kill our world. It’s time to burn it to the ground and start over.”

“You-” Peter couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing, “You are as crazy as Ares.”

Beck’s face tightened in anger. “Ares? He’s a fool, never realized who his master was. Peter, I don’t have time to explain this all to you. You aren’t going to live much longer.”

That seemed to make the scorpion move, crawling up Peter’s pants leg. His mind was running a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how he was going to escape this mess.

“Kronos. That’s your master, right?”

Just like it had on Olympus, the air chilled when Peter said the name.

“Be careful with names, Peter,” Beck warned.

“Kronos spoke in your dreams,” Peter continued. “He got you to steal Zeus’s master bolt and Hades’ helm of darkness.”

Beck was irritated. “He spoke to you, as well. You should’ve listened.”

“Beck, you’re being brainwashed.”

“Wrong. You’re wrong. All he has done is shown me that my talents are being wasted here. My quest? All those years ago? Hermes created it, he had me go steal an apple from the Garden of the Hesperides and bring it to Olympus,” Beck said. “All those years of training. For that.”

“But, that’s not an easy quest. Hercules did it.”

“Where’s the glory when you repeat what others have already done?” Beck snarled. 

He talked through how he got his scarーfrom the dragon that guarded the gardenーwhich led to him failing his quest and returning to camp, which only looked to him in pity. From then on, all Beck wanted to do was bring Olympus to its knees. He had waited, and Kronos began to talk to him in his dreams. Then, the solstice arrived. He stole the symbols of power from the gods, who had been too arrogant to think anyone would steal from them.

Peter stared at the scorpion on his knee. “Why didn’t you just take the items to Kronos?”

“Overconfidence. Zeus had sent his children out to find me and Ares caught up. Kronos told me what to say to get Ares to do my bidding,” Beck said, running his finger along the blade of his sword. “He punished me with nightmares after that. He told me another hero would arrive to camp and that they could be tricked into delivering the symbols to Tartarus.”

“That night in the forest, the hellhound. You summoned it?”

Beck nodded absentmindedly, like Peter’s stream of questions was just an annoyance. “Of course. I had to make it seem like camp wasn’t safe for you, so Tony would send you on the quest.”

“Those flying shoes you gave me were cursed, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, they were supposed to drag you and the backpack into the pit,” Beck replied with a nose flare. “Then you gave them to Ned. Everything he touches gets messed up, even that curse.”

They both looked down at the scorpion, which was on Peter’s thigh now. “Peter, you should have died in Tartarus and it’s a shame you didn’t. But, this little friend of mine will fix things up.”

“MJ gave her life for you,” Peter’s teeth were clenched in anger. “She died to save you, this is how you repay her?”

That tipped him over the edge. “Do not speak of her! The gods failed her, not me. They will pay for it.”

“Don’t listen to Kronos, Beck. You’re being used.”

“Used?” Beck’s voice sounded insane. “I’m being used? What about you? Kronos will rise. The Olympians will fall.”

“Fight me yourself, Beck. Call off the bug.”

Beck smiled a deranged smile. “Nice try. I’m not as dumb as Ares. Now, I’ve got some quests to do for my lord.”

“Goodbye, Peter,” Beck said. “A new Golden Age is coming. It’s a shame you won’t be a part of it.”

With that final statement, he slashed his sword and disappeared.

When the scorpion lunged a moment later, Peter slapped it away with his hand and swiped through it with his sword. He had thought he had succeeded in killing it before it could sting him, but his palm had a huge welt. It was already showing signs of poison.

Peter’s senses dampened and exploded at the same time. His ears pounded, vision fogged over. 

He needed water. It healed him.

His vision was darkening, but he managed to submerge his hand in the creek, but nothing happened. He could barely stand up. 

Beck had said it would take less than a minute.

Camp. Peter had to get back to camp. He’d be a meal for a monster if he died out here, no one would know what had happened to him.

His legs felt like lead and his forehead was burning. The nymphs emerged from their trees when he began to stumble towards camp.

They grabbed him by his arms when he pleaded.

The last thing he remembered before passing out was the nymphs getting him to a clearing, a counselor yelling for help, and the conch horn sounding off.

* * *

He had a strange sense of deja-vu, waking up with a straw in his mouth. He could taste nectar. Peter opened his eyes.

He was in the sickroom of the Big House, his hand bandaged, Argus standing guard in the corner of the room. Harley was the one holding his glass, dabbing Peter’s forehead with a washcloth.

“Deja-vu,” Peter said.

“Darlin’,” Harley let out a sigh and Peter ignored the way his heart fluttered. “You were really bad when we found you. Without Tony healing you…”

Mr. Stark interrupted from the side, “Give Peter some of the credit.”

He was back in his wheelchair and Peter had completely looked over him when he did his first glance around the room.

“How do you feel?”

Peter felt like a frozen lunchable that some child brought to school and was very disappointed seeing when they opened it up to see it soggy. So, he told them that.

“Yeah, that seems accurate. Pit scorpion venom is something else,” Mr. Stark nodded. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Peter did.

They sat in silence when he finished.

“I can’t believe that Beck-,” Harley cut himself off, his face morphing into anger. “Actually, yeah. Yeah, I can believe that. Beck was never the same when he got back from his quest. Fuck him.” Mr. Stark looked surprised at Harley’s wording, but didn’t mention it. 

“I need to report this to Olympus at once,” Mr. Stark muttered to himself, but Peter heard him.

“I need to go after Beck,” Peter said, despite his bones not feeling as if they could support him.

“No, Peter,” Mr. Stark shook his head to emphasize the point. “The gods-”

“They won’t talk about him!” Peter snapped. It was unusual for him to be this disrespectful towards Mr. Stark, but he was pissed. “Zeus declared the matter closed!”

“Peter, you aren’t ready to go on a quest of vengeance.”

Mr. Stark was correct, as much as Peter hated it. He couldn’t even hold his sword with the state of his hand. Then he realized why Mr. Stark was so against it.

“The prophecy, your prophecy. It’s about Kronos, is it not? Does it include me? Harley?”

Mr. Stark shot a nervous glance at the ceiling. “Can’t tell you that, kiddo.”

“They ordered you not to talk about it.”

The look Mr. Stark gave him said Peter was correct. “One day you’ll be a great hero, kid. I’ve just gotta train you first. If I’m right…”

The windows rattled with the thunder that boomed.

“Fine!” Mr. Stark snapped at the ceiling.

With a sigh of frustration and a pinch to the bridge of his nose, Mr. Stark informed Peter that he shouldn’t know too much of his future.

“We can’t just do nothing!”

“We won’t,” Mr. Stark promised. “But, we can not send you out into the hands of Kronos unprepared. It’ll take training, but your time will come.”

“Yeah,” Peter snarked. “Assuming that I live that long.”

“You gotta trust me, Pete. You’ve also got to decide what you plan to do for the school year. Let me know when I get back from Olympus.”

All Peter wanted to do was ask more questions, to protest his lack of action, but he knew he would get nothing more from the man.

“I’ll be back soon. Argus is here to guard you.” 

Then he turned to Harley, “They’re here, for whenever you’re ready.”

Peter was really starting to hate feeling confused.

“Who?”

No one gave him an answer.

Mr. Stark rolled out of the room and Harley stared at the ice in the glass that had held Peter’s nectar.

“You okay?” Peter asked the blond.

“Yeah,” Harley said, setting the glass down. “You need anything?”

“Yeah, for you to help me get outside.”

“Not a good idea, darlin’.”

Harley was probably right, but Peter slid his legs off the bed anyway. The blond caught him when Peter’s legs crumbled beneath him and nausea took hold.

“Darlin’,” Harley sighed.

Somehow, the blond could say a sentence in one word. This time, he was definitely telling Peter ‘told you so’.

“‘m fine,” Peter muttered, managing a step while leaning heavily on Harley.

He refused to lay in a bed when Beck was planning to burn down the western world. 

Peter’s face was covered in sweat, his stomach in knots, but he had made it to the railing of the Big House.

If he had thought the camp looked empty earlier, it was positively deserted now. It was dusk. Silent.

“Have you decided what you plan to do?” Harley asked as they looked over the canoe lake. 

“No.”

He explained that he was pretty sure Mr. Stark wanted him to stay at camp so he could train, but Peter didn’t know what to do. He felt bad leaving Harley alone too. The camp was too empty year round. 

Harley looked at his hands. “I’m goin’ home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah,” Harley said, pointing to the crest of the hill. A woman and a girl stood next to MJ’s tree. “When we got back, I sent them another letter. Said I’d come back for a school year, if they’d have me. I got a letter back immediately. They want me home.”

Peter gave the blond a soft smile. He knew how much Harley had missed his family. 

“You aren’t gonna do anything dumb while we’re separated, are you?” Harley tried to look serious for a moment, but a grin broke out anyway. “At least send an Iris message if you do.”

Peter smiled back. “I never plan on trouble, but it tends to find me anyway.”

“Next summer, we’ll go after Beck,” Harley promised. “Quest or no quest. Got it?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They shook hands, but with a look, Harley had pulled him in for a hug. 

It only lasted a brief moment.

“Stay safe, Web Head,” Harley told him.

“You too, cowboy.”

Peter watched the blond hair glitter as Harley approached his family. Abbie flung herself around Harley and his mom joined the hug. Once they broke apart, Abbie ran to the car with Harley’s bag, his mom following. Harley lingered a moment, running his hand over MJ’s tree before walking into the mortal world.

Peter looked over the Long Island Sound and realized that this was the first time since he arrived that he had felt truly alone. 

Poseidon had said that the sea doesn’t like being restrained. 

Peter made up his mind and he briefly wondered if his father would approve.

“I’ll be back next summer,” he promised the waves. “I’ll survive until then.”

He asked Argus to take him to cabin three. 

Peter needed to pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join the parkner discord server! https://discord.gg/nDyCx6p

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this funky little mess! We hope you enjoyed copious amounts of John Mulaney, the Lightning Thief Musical, and Into the Spiderverse references. Please leave kudos and comments as they are our only source of serotonin.


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